


Wake Me Up

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sshg_giftfest, Doctor Who References, Explicit Language, F/M, Karaoke, Pride and Prejudice References, Time Turner (Harry Potter), medical drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 111,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: Dying a slow, painful death, Severus Snape had one last trick tucked in his breast pocket. It’s 2012, and the world believes Snape is gone, having buried, prosecuted, pardoned, and honoured him. Healer Hermione Granger’s curiosity is piqued when Lucius Malfoy takes an unnatural interest in the portrait hanging in Headmistress McGonagall’s office.Time turner story, but not that kind. EWE, HEA. Complete.Lyrics from Avicii's "Wake Me Up" are used as titles for the Chapters.





	1. Prologue: It’s All Over.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Geminisister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister/gifts).



> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister's prompt: ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister) Severus Snape finds a Time Turner in his pocket as he lies dying in the Shrieking Shack. He sets it spinning as he drifts into darkness. He does not go back in time but moves forward to meet his fate. How and why has the now thirty-something Hermione Granger, saved him?
> 
>  **I want to thank in particular my faithful friends who suffered through this monster project with me; it was written in the space of about six weeks, and these angels took their time to make this presentable.**  
>  Beta'd by the fabulous [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the fantastic [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by the sweet [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and my saucy [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> I love you all!

 

 

Prologue: It’s All Over.

 

Severus woke to find his darkening world on fire with tremendous pain. Every laboured breath brought agony. He felt like he was drowning whilst knives painstakingly dissected his neck to shreds. By instinct he fought through it, his flesh demanding the effort.

He’d been having a lovely dream, where everything was white and he drifted, weightless. The burdens of his existence vanished in that place. He’d done his job, and he had allowed himself to believe that he had reached his reward. Nothing was ever so easy, though. Not for him.

Muzzy-headed vertigo made it hard to think as a narrow, pale face swam into view. As if shouted down a well, he heard Lucius’ voice echoing weirdly in his ears; “I’ve dosed you with the antivenom, Snape, and tried the best healing spells I know, but that wound won’t close. I need to go and get help.”

Squinting, Severus tried to bring his friend into sharper focus. “Lucius?”

Lucius used a handkerchief to mop at Severus’ lips, and it came away scarlet stained. “Quiet now. Save your breath. The Dark Lord is gone.”

“Potter?”

“He did it, Severus. He walked out to meet the Dark Lord and somehow lived twice. It’s all over. You should save your breath.”

The worry reflected in those blue eyes made Severus highly doubt he had much time left. Time… is the fire in which we burn. Pain burned in his chest; why did fate have to be so literal? There were too many things left unsaid, undone.

_Time!_

That might be the answer. If he could just take himself back, he’d be able to do everything over, better. He was sure that he could avoid himself. What were the rules again? Nevermind. If he could just go back far enough, Dumbledore would feel his presence as soon as he broke through. The castle’s wards as they were now were shattered, but the intact wards of yesterday would recognize him and alert the Headmaster.

Dumbledore had left a device to Severus in his will, a prototype Time-Turner that the Ministry released to him once Scrimgeour was ousted. A new design, retro-engineered from what texts Albus had access to, it promised to be able to bring the traveller back to the point of origin. The ones lost in the Department of Mysteries battle only went in reverse.

The problem was that Albus’ portrait said it never really worked properly and he urged Severus never to use it except in the direst of circumstances. It was experimental, untested. Rookwood had shown it to his spooks in the Department of Mysteries and pronounced it useless; shaky work at best. He recommended that it be decommissioned, but even so, Severus kept it.

Unable to speak, he locked eyes with Lucius’ and opened his mind, forcing forward the image of his own breast pocket and the delicate instrument that he needed.

Relief flooded into his friend’s eyes. “You already have a plan. I should have known, you old bastard!” Shaking fingers plucked at his pockets, patting the blood-matted wool for clues. “There!”

Thinking that a plan was too strong a word and the confidence entirely misplaced, he waited as Lucius strung the long silver chain about his neck and fastened it there. The pain intensified and his vision was starting to lose colour again. He tried to pull in a deep breath to speak, but it wasn’t enough air; he was getting too weak.

The last thing Severus heard as he slipped back into the white fog of oblivion was a strangled, “Shite! This had better work!”


	2. Chapter 1: Feeling The Way Through The Darkness

 

 

 

 

Chapter One: Feeling The Way Through The Darkness

 

Another year, another Christmas Party at Hogwarts.

 

Healer Hermione Granger stood at the edge of the elaborately bedecked Great Hall, her hands occupied with a mug filled with an aromatic mulled wine. She’d yet to be able to get the recipe out of Hannah Abbott, and it looked like this time around was no different. She suspected there was an extra psychotropic element added to help stave off the melancholy that hung about such events at the school. With her line of work she rarely had the opportunity to enjoy such indulgences.

 

She listened as Neville Longbottom regaled her with tales of what the students had been up to lately. He was always easy to talk to, and she appreciated his friendship, whose foundations had been poured while they were at school, hardened in the forge of the War, and built upon over the time the pair spent as teaching assistants before Hermione was accepted as a Healer Apprentice at St Mungo’s. Fifteen years came and went, and she was a fully qualified healer, and feeling rather sorry for herself.

 

“I hear that Ron’s eldest daughter will be coming to school next year.” Almost immediately Neville remembered who he was talking to, and the faint look of horror in his eyes reminded Hermione of their days in Potions, years ago.

 

Ron Weasley was her old flame - one who’d sputtered out under the pressure of a long distance relationship and the intense training required for Aurors. There was a moment in her life where she’d thought for certain that he was really the one for her, but she was very wrong. Things had become strained between them in short order and they’d agreed to part ways. For a lad who’d claimed that a magical item allowed his devoted heart to find her when she’d been hidden under the best wards she’d managed, he had moved on painfully quickly.

 

Being unwilling to let this mention ruin her evening, she played nicely. “Oh? That’s lovely. The first of many. I wonder if the poor girl will have a greater interest in Academics than her father.” Silently, she berated herself. That wasn’t nice, was it? Sighing, she lifted her mug to her lips and drained half of its remaining contents off, mentally trying to tally how many times she’d refilled it already that evening. Three, she decided. Merlin, she’d better slow down!  

 

Neville smiled anxiously. “Yes.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, then blurted, “Madam Pomfrey’s looking to retire.”

 

“Is that so? Before the onslaught of Potter and Weasley children, I imagine?” She looked away, discomfited by the reminder that she was out of step with the rest of her generation, having chosen to prioritise her career over working to repopulate Magical Britain.

 

Laughing a little too loudly, Neville shrugged. “I suppose that might be the case. Merlin, I hope McGonagall stays on another decade.” His brow wrinkled with worry for a moment, but Neville was able to shake it off in order to return to his original pitch. “It would be nice to have you in the infirmary, just like old times.”

 

He was so earnest and it was nice to be wanted. She did suspect, though, it was as much for the reassurance of having someone to save the day if he fell in over his head as it was for her delightful company. She didn’t have the heart in her to explain the difference between a mediwitch who was a generalist and a trauma healer with cross specialisations in spell damage and poisons. The latter (being herself) would most likely go slowly insane under the burden of hormonal teenagers with frustratingly minor problems that boiled down to a general lack of common sense. She settled for, “I’ve never really enjoyed pediatric healing, honestly. The parents are always a nightmare.”

 

“Oh yes, of course.” He laughed. “That holds true in teaching as well.”

 

A stumping tattoo, resulting from Minerva’s heavy reliance on a cane and a bad leg, alerted Hermione to the Headmistress’ approach and she turned to receive her into the group.

 

“Hermione, my dear. Would you care to come up to the office with me? I find that I am tired and should like to retire for the evening.” She blinked blearily, and the lighting threw the deep lines traced on her face into stark relief.

 

Neville raised his eyebrows and bid them both a good night. The hand off was smooth enough that Hermione was suddenly apprehensive that this was part of a coordinated campaign to recruit her. Well, she had somewhere along the way learned to say no, so there was little danger in private conversation, now, was there?  

 

“Of course, Headmistress.” She offered her arm to the woman, trying to ignore how much it pained her to see her favourite teacher showing her age. The war had not been kind to her, but her strength of character bullied everything along, even so.

 

“Please call me ‘Minerva’, child. I have taken the evening off.” She banged the ground once with her walking stick, for emphasis, as if daring the fates to defy her.

 

Laughing lightly, Hermione fell into step beside her mentor and friend, quite sure that the Norns themselves wouldn’t mess with Minerva McGonagall.

 

As if like called to like, another walking stick clicked along its approach. Minerva slowed. “Drat. We’d nearly made it to the exit, too.” Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment, she turned. “Right, might as well get this over with.” Raising her voice from the conspiratorial to a more conversational tone, she opened her eyes, straightened and addressed the guest. “Mr Malfoy, good evening to you. I hope you are quite well.”

 

The tall form of Lucius Malfoy stood at a respectful distance and executed a neat bow before her. “Thank you, Headmistress. I apologise for intruding on your time, but I wonder if there has been any sign of activity in the object we have corresponded upon?”

 

Sorrow lined McGonagall’s face and she shook her head. “No, Lucius. I am afraid not.”

 

“Ah. Have you considered having another expert in? I would be happy to facilitate a consultation. Perhaps one of the Italian masters might succeed where Monsieur Poulin failed?”

 

Hermione looked between the two, the pilot light of curiosity flickering to life in her mind.

 

“I shall consider your generous offer and get back to you at a later date. This evening is for merriment and camaraderie. Such sad topics ought to be set aside, Mr Malfoy.” Trust McGonagall to find a way to scold Lucius bloody Malfoy.

 

“But of course. I apologise for mentioning it, but I am sure you understand. I cannot help but think of my old friend on nights like these. I do miss his wit.” Blue eyes swept over to Hermione and he acknowledged her with an inclination of the head. “Ah, I see you have sought out a celebrated wit of your own. Miss Granger. You look very well.”

 

“Thank you, sir. And you.” She could feel McGonagall’s hand tighten on her arm. Steady on.

 

He’d never lost a haunted look, one that all of the former inhabitants of Azkaban shared, in spite of the Ministry’s reformations over the use of Dementors. Faint wrinkles appeared about his eyes. Was that a smile? “My son tells me that you are quite the dedicated Healer. Imagine his surprise should he learn you took a night off.”

 

She never could get used to a polite Lucius Malfoy, and one complimenting her was frankly appalling. A faint blush rose to her cheeks and she stumbled mentally for something witty to say. “It isn’t a common occurrence, that is true.” Unbidden, a smile lifted the corners of her mouth in amusement. “But what is that when there are such friends to be met?”

 

Draco had grown into a friend over the years, one of the few who’d no qualms in telling her exactly what he thought of her burying herself in responsibility and work. The Healer card held no weight with him; they’d trained side by side for much of her first two years into the apprenticeship before he was diverted to pure potions study and she stayed in the trenches.

 

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Will you be stopping to pay your respects, then?”

 

The smile slid from the elder Malfoy’s eyes and he looked away, nodding once. “I appreciate your indulgence, Headmistress.”

 

“Of course, Lucius. Any time. It is such a comfort, I know.”

 

Pale and dignified, the wizard’s face shuttered at the bare suggestion of an emotional connection with the old Gryffindor matron. He bowed precisely to her once more, inclining his head to Hermione before striding away.

 

When he was a safe distance away, Hermione asked in a low voice that echoed still through the hall, “Whom was he referring to?”

 

Worry deepend the lines of the Headmistress’ face. She answered in hushed tones as they made their way up the stair; “It is a great mystery, wrapped up in the trappings of grief. In the absence of any actual conclusions after bringing in experts from all over, we are no closer to a satisfactory conclusion. I think it better that you see for yourself.”

 

Upon reaching the Headmistress’ office, Hermione marveled at how little had changed about the place. There were a few noticeable differences, such as the inventions that Dumbledore kept on a table were cleared away, and Fawkes’ perch was occupied by a regal looking owl. The portraits were all the same, excepting the addition of a new one.

 

Placed over a small cabinet that was stocked with bottles of what Hermione recognized as liquor was a modest portrait of one Severus Snape. Unlike the rest of the portraits, however, it was completely still.

 

Drawn like a magnet to iron, Hermione walked straight over to inspect the portrait. “How strange!” She took out a pair of multilensed spectacles from a pocket in her gown and slipped them on. Ratcheting through the magical spectrums, Hermione could see the bones of the enchantment, the magical quality of the paint, and the drop of essence that was taken from the person featured was there too.

 

Minerva settled herself in a chair by the fire, putting up her feet with a relieved sigh. “You’re wasting no time, I see.” Her voice was warm with amusement.

 

Frowning now, Hermione walked over to the large portrait of Albus Dumbledore that sat behind the Headmaster’s Desk. She made a perfunctory greeting, blinking up at the man with whom she’d made a sort of uneasy peace with years ago, “Hullo Professor! Happy Christmas to you.” She was too absorbed to catch the way Dumbledore exchanged a conspiratorial glance with McGonagall.  

 

“Thank you, Miss Granger, or should I call you Healer Granger? Any happy news from the world outside?” His voice was bright with amusement.

 

Hermione looked up, her eyes comically distorted by the lenses. “Hermione will do, if you don’t mind. I’m off duty.” She flashed an even row of magically-straightened teeth in a charming smile whose effect was completely ruined by the glasses. Unperturbed, she went back to flipping between her lenses, chewing on her lip as she went.

 

McGonagall sat in her chair, watching the two of them. “We just ran into Lucius Malfoy. He wants to bring in more art experts. From Italy this time.”

 

“To have them examine Professor Snape’s portrait?” Hermione straightened and looked around.

 

Groans from all around the room indicated what the gallery thought of that notion, although Phineas Nigellus Black could be heard scolding them all. His nasal tones were unmistakable; “You all should be ashamed of yourselves. Severus Snape was the greatest Slytherin Headmaster and I for one looked forward to conversing with him once more. If there is any way to set his portrait to rights, I am all for it!”

 

Ignoring an aggressive verbal barrage that shot back and forth over her head, Hermione stood and looked out the window. Questions flooded her mind, ones that she’d always wanted to ask the dour man. New ones joined the wealth of her curiosity regarding the Headmasters portraits. She looked up at Dumbledore, a terrible hope springing to life as she took off her glasses and noticed him quietly watching her.

 

“Professor Dumbledore-”

 

“Please, call me Albus. It is Christmas, and I am very glad to see you, Hermione.”

 

He was trying to distract her and was doing a very poor job of it. What was he hiding? What did he know? She swiped a palm over her face as one single idea shouted over all of her others. “Thank you, sir. I don’t believe that the Italian experts are going to have much more traction on the problem than the French or the English.”

 

Dumbledore’s fantastic eyebrows rose up in mock surprise. It was an invitation of sorts to keep speaking.

 

She turned away, giving in to an urge to pace. “I can’t believe it.” She shoved the glasses back into her pocket, leaving her hands free to wave about as she spoke. “Professor Dumbledore’s portrait appeared in the office after his death, and he slept for some time, yes?” Her feet stopped before McGonagall’s chair and she looked down expectantly at her, waiting for an answer.

 

“That is correct. It is the way of things.”

 

Gesturing at the portrait of Snape she said, “And did this show up immediately after the battle?”

 

“No. I had to task Mr Filch with finding it. Severus didn’t like looking at his own reflection much less that painting. I assume that is why he’d buried it in the storage closet. I honestly believed that he had burned it. Argus found it in the end.”  

 

Clapping her hands together, Hermione beamed at the Headmistress. “Are you quite sure that is what happened? It didn’t appear?”

 

“I am certain, Hermione.” McGonagall was looking at her as though she’d gone well off of the deep end of the lake wearing concrete shoes and a parachute. “Are you quite well?”

 

Waving the concern away, Hermione laughed, hugging herself. “How was this missed this the whole time? That wonderful, terrible, brilliant, amazingly sneaky bastard of a wizard! Of course he wouldn’t want his portrait up.”

 

Phineas Nigellus’ voice could be heard overhead, “Dilys, I think you need to go and fetch someone from St Mungo’s. This witch is obviously cursed. Listen to her, she’s <i> _cackling. </i> _”

 

The elderly Headmistress countermanded that straightaway, “Don’t you dare, Dilys.” She turned her sharp eyes on Hermione, waiting for the other Knut to drop.

 

Overwhelmed with the possibility, she covered her mouth to hold it in. A pang of misgiving stopped her joy. She whirled away to look up at Dumbledore, murmuring. “What if this was intentional? What if he doesn’t want anyone to know?”

 

“Know what?” The iron edge of annoyance sharpened McGonagall’s diction.

 

Hermione kept her eyes on Dumbledore’s face. He looked resigned. “Someone was going to figure it out. You might as well tell Minerva while she’s sitting down. Go ahead.”

 

Crying tears of frustrated joy, Hermione turned back to the Headmistress. “There isn’t anything wrong with Professor Snape’s portrait.”

 

McGonagall stared back at Hermione. “My dear, that just… well, look at it. He’s static!”

 

Set to pacing once more, Hermione gesticulated. “Exactly! The castle didn’t present the portrait in the usual way. It should be awake by now, yet the enchantment that lends magical portraits the semblance of life is completely _intact_. I checked: the signature is there, just waiting.” She pointed at the portrait. “There isn’t a blessed thing wrong with it!”

The Headmistress paled. “You cannot be serious. That would mean...”

 

Hermione stopped and bounced on her toes, throwing her arms wide. “Yes! He’s alive! Out there! Somewhere! Living and breathing and free!” She laughed and twirled about. “What wonderful news!”

 

Dumbledore was smiling along with her, his hands clasped in front of his chest as he watched her dancing.

 

“My dear, you know that cannot be the case. You were there. There is no way Severus Snape could have survived such injuries.” Her expression was pleading, as though she needed Hermione to be wrong. “Potter testified that he watched the light die from his eyes.”

 

Breathless, Hermione skidded to a stop in front of the inanimate portrait. “Severus Snape was… _is_ the greatest Potions Master to ever walk these halls, and he was already familiar with the antivenom specific to Nagini. He cured Arthur Weasley; I am sure you recall that terrible December. He must have known that Voldemort used that snake as a weapon as much as it was a Horcrux. He must have had the antidote on him!”

 

“I don’t see how that could be, Hermione.”

 

Waving her hands at the portrait, Hermione pressed on, “He was a consummate actor, a spy. He had us all confunded that last year. Knowing that it would be difficult for him to continue on in British Wizarding society he must have planned such an escape! He was martyr and traitor all rolled into one, and it was easier to accept that wizard’s dichotomy when he was already thought to be dead. No one begrudges a dead man recognition. His story is the stuff of legend, just like Harry’s.” She set her hands on her hips. “If anyone could carry this off, it is Severus Snape.”

 

“We buried him. Mourned him. Mr Potter named one of his children after him, for Heaven’s sake.”

 

Frowning, Hermione turned to the Headmistress. “How can you be so certain? It was a closed coffin funeral. Did you see his body?”

 

“The Malfoy family collected his remains the night of the Battle, Miss Granger. Had the right to do so, as Severus’ will did make Lucius his executor. You recall the nature of the terrible wounds.”  

 

Hermione felt a little sick, recalling the way Snape had struggled to speak, and even breathe at the last. If only she’d known what she did now, she might have been able to help him.

 

Perhaps sensing that she’d made a dent in Hermione’s optimism, McGonagall continued with her argument. “It was simply not practical to have a viewing. There were security risks even with the private ceremony, so the coffin was already sealed before the funeral as a precaution.”

 

“Very suspicious. What would it take to get a look? People transfigure corpses all of the time, maybe it was a clever simulacrum?”

 

Professor McGonagall shook her head slowly, “Hermione, I am sorry. I know you want this to be true but I am afraid it simply isn’t possible. You cannot exhume Severus Snape’s remains on the chance that he’s not in there. The Malfoy family would not allow it.”  

 

Looking very much like she wanted to do exactly that, tonight, Hermione turned away. “That is inconvenient.”

 

Dragging herself up from the chair, Minerva limped over to Hermione. “My dear, I have accepted that the portrait is faulty. Perhaps that brilliant mind of Severus Snape’s figured a way to refuse his participation in the Headmaster’s gallery.”

 

Hermione bit off a bitter laugh. That would be like the sour man. Very like him.

 

McGonagall placed an arm about Hermione’s shoulders and she continued in a low voice, “Maybe this is exactly the way he wanted it to be. Dead and off in paradise, leaving no impression of himself to bear abuse from the mouths of foolish witches and wizards who will continue to walk these halls for all of time.”

 

Snuffling, Hermione slipped her fingers up her sleeve, drawing out a handkerchief she’d placed there earlier. “I should think he’d revel in the power to criticise dunderheaded idiots like us from beyond the veil. Tempting prospect, isn’t it?”  After blowing her nose, she glanced up at Dumbledore to find him frowning at her. “Only thing better would be a full haunting, right sir?”

 

Dumbledore’s look of disappointment was profound, and Hermione felt very small indeed for saying such things around the shadows of so many great wizards and witches. His eyes gentled as he answered lowly, “No, Miss Granger. The best prospect for such entertainments would to be alive to enjoy them. To partake of them, first hand.”

 

“I… I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking.” She looked around, seeing many faces looking back at her, expressions of disapproval and sympathy divided amongst them.

 

McGonagall withdrew a short distance and patted her on the shoulder. “You are tired and overwrought. The spirit of the night and the excellent mulled wine have left your thoughts in dangerously whimsical waters. Go home, get some sleep, and things will be much clearer in the morning, alright?”

 

As she was steered out of the office and saying her goodbyes, Hermione cast one last thoughtful look at the motionless portrait of Severus Snape.

 

After she left, Minerva sighed. “I wish she was right, Albus. There’s something to be said for such a fantasy where Severus Snape is still out there, far from all of the burdens that we set on his shoulders. Maybe he is even happy. That would be a brighter world, for certain.”

 

“Well, I am not certain he would be pleased to be found after all of this time.” Albus Dumbledore sat back in his painted squashy chair with a frown. “At least he has not been forgotten.”

 

* * *

  

Hermione woke to the terrible caterwauling of her bedside alarm. It was a wind-up relic, left over from her primary school days. The metallic bell was intrinsic to her morning routine. Blinking, she didn’t wait for her eyes to fully focus before throwing off her blankets with a groan.

 

The edges of a dream were slipping out of her grasp and she thought about it as her feet hit the cold tile of her bathroom to set the shower on to warm up.

 

_She’d run into class late and had no clothes on. A laughing Colin Creevey hexed her so that her torso slowly became completely invisible, from her heart outwards. “How is this better?” He was gone before she could persuade him to fix it._

 

_Abruptly Professor Snape stepped into view, looking down at her in all of his high-browed disdain. She had to tip her head up to look at him, and just like that day in the hall she was convinced that he’d set things right. “Professor, help! I’m disappearing...” Her hand jutted up in the air, and she started to really panic as her arms disappeared from view._

 

_The Potions Professor sneered at her. “I see no difference.”_

 

The cobwebs of agitation and humiliation from the dream clung to the corners of her mind as she brushed her teeth. What was it trying to tell her? She certainly never felt like the man himself every really noticed her except with annoyance at her hand waving in the air. In fact many of the most important and embarrassing moments of her young life had included the Professor as a participant in some shape or form.

 

He’d taken points from her for being an “Insufferable know-it-all,” which was grossly unfair as she’d worked very hard to learn the material inside and out. He’d done nothing but ridicule her, and in spite of that she’d desperately wanted to win his approval. Then there was the humiliating incident with her teeth. Both incidents were very public and in full view of the Slytherins in her year, and at the time she’d wondered if the ill treatment was a sort of just retribution. Had he figured out that it was she who set his robes ablaze that first year, or that she’d stolen the boomslang skin from his supplies in second year? She was very surprised indeed to not have been disciplined for either incident.

 

As an adult she prefered to believe that his callous behaviour was an act, meant to cast himself in the light of a muggleborn-bullying bastard, an integral part of his disguise. In spite of that even when he was still her Potions Professor, she’d noticed other things stood out about the mysterious wizard, actions that hinted at a better nature. Later they all discovered his true motivations, in spite of the mask of cruelty he wore so comfortably.

 

When she was petrified by the basilisk along with Penelope Clearwater, it fell to Professor Snape to brew the potion needed to restore them. She’d been visited by the dour man in the infirmary more than once, and in spite of her petrified state she recalled the few words of news that he would bring. Later, she’d realised that he was speaking loudly as he chatted with Madam Pomfrey about the investigations, but even if it was unintentional it brought her some small comfort. He’d been consulted when she’d consumed the cat-hair tainted Polyjuice Potion, and never chose to bring it up in public although she’d expected to be castigated for it for the rest of her education.

 

When she’d been cursed within an inch of her life at the Ministry when she was sixteen, he’d been there every day to affix the poultices, and he provided Madam Pomfrey with the potions she needed to restore her guts to working order. When Maclaggan had pressed himself on her at the Slug Club party, Snape’s appearance allowed her to escape the unwanted attention, although she doubted he’d any idea of being a hero that particular moment.

 

That terrible night when she’d lost faith in Snape’s loyalties, he’d locked her in the study with Luna and Professor Flitwick. Now she thought the move was meant to keep her out of the way of the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts, but back then she thought he’d intended to kill Dumbledore and wanted them out of his way.

 

Through Phineas Nigellus’ portrait, he’d monitored Harry’s progress, and stepped in with the Sword of Gryffindor when he had a concrete lead on where they were camped. Time and again, he’d used his influence to spare the children abuses of the Death Eaters while he sat as Headmaster, at great personal peril. Unsupported, reviled.

 

She’d spoken on his behalf during the farcical trial and also testified at the hearings held surrounding his effects. She’d fancied that it was partially thanks to Harry’s and her own considerable efforts that Professor Snape was awarded both a posthumous pardon and the Order of Merlin, first class. It was little thanks and too late, but it was important to her that she honour the brave man who she admired. She only wished she could have done more, helped him in the Shack.

 

The second alarm went off and she was jarred back into motion. As she lathered and rinsed, her mind kept returning to the potential possibilities as she went through her morning routine.

 

What if he was still alive, and wanted to be left in peace? Her imagination conjured up images of the Professor on a tropical island somewhere, mixing nothing more stressful than fruity cocktails with umbrellas. Perhaps he was deep in the Department of Mysteries, his research continuing behind the scenes to keep making the world a better, more magical place.

 

It was possible to pay for complex transfiguration spells which would enable Snape to permanently alter his appearance, allowing him to hide in plain sight. Could she find him selling potions out of a quaint Apothecary,  the only giveaway hidden in his ware’s unusually good results?

 

As she toweled herself dry, she briefly imagined herself sailing into whatever corner of the globe wherein he’d tucked himself away. She might find convoluted ways of trying to make his life better.

 

A wave of shame swept over her. What an arrogant notion that was. Why would such an accomplished wizard ever have need of someone like her to improve his circumstances?

 

Hermione turned back to the mirror in her bathroom, which was unapologetically and completely mundane. Her eyes touched on her wild mop of curls, still wet and twisted into a messy bun. Her acid green scrubs were wrinkled, and the colour never really did much for her complexion.

 

Was this only a self-centered need to solve the unsolvable and gain his unattainable approval?  Would her nosiness ultimately lead to disastrous consequences for the very person she sought to help? Shouldn’t she just leave well enough alone?

 

Turning away, she trudged into her kitchen and collected the tea that she’d set the crockery to making. Magic hath its privileges, after all.

 

It was over her bowl of oatmeal that she recalled the look of relief in Lucius Malfoy’s eyes when the Headmistress confirmed that Snape’s portrait remained inanimate. It was quite strange.

 

Why did Lucius Malfoy have such an interest in Snape’s portrait? It seemed more than a passing interest. Fifteen years later and he was still interested. Did Snape hold some sort of power over his head or was it true concern? Was he afraid _of_  or _for_ the wizard he’d once made his son’s Godfather?

 

As she cleared away the breakfast things, a plan began to form in her mind. Perhaps she wasn’t alone in her whimsical interest in the ex-Death Eater’s true status and wellbeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by the sleepless [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the sanguine [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by my dear [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and my darling [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> 


	3. Chapter 2: Guided By A Beating Heart

 

 

 

Chapter 2: Guided By A Beating Heart

  
  
Lucius Malfoy lived a quiet life out of necessity. His world had changed drastically as a result of the war, particularly for wizards like himself: Death Eaters. He knew he was monitored closely even now, the freedom was an illusion. His ability to travel out of the country was very limited, but he’d not been in any sort of condition to travel, nor had he any inclination until recently. Still, anything was better than Azkaban.   
  
He’d left Azkaban four years ago having paid his debt to society with a grueling ten year sentence. The damage he had done to his family was irreparable. His wife sued for and was granted a divorce a scant year into his incarceration, when it became clear that he was not going to succumb to his shame quietly. Narcissa was spared prison time and was given house arrest instead, a gesture for the service she’d rendered to Harry Potter after Voldemort failed to kill him a second time.   
  
Draco was his joy, the reason that he held on to life in spite of all of its bitter disappointments. His son blossomed under pressure, maturing into a wizard worthy of the Malfoy name. There was a fraught period of time after the war where Lucius, helpless, watched his son wallow, nay flounder in his own guilt and depression. He rose above it and there wasn’t a prouder father in all of the Wizarding World. Hard experience shaped the Malfoy heir into a shrewd, reserved man. A better man than Lucius. One who was able to push past the ugliness, and forgive his unworthy father.   
  
Lucius knew he didn’t deserve such a chance, for although he loved his son and wife, he’d lost sight of what was best for them in favour of a madman’s vision of a better future and the power he would hold in such a world. He’d fallen, like Lucifer. He paid a terrible price for his folly.  
  
And yet, here on New Year’s Day was a missive from one of Heaven’s own angels, if Draco had the right of it. Hermione Granger wanted to meet to discuss a matter of delicacy. The note was terse, surprisingly so for the loquacious witch. His eyes narrowed at the date proposed in the missive.   
  
“January 9th.” He tapped the scroll with a neatly manicured nail. A wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “That’s interesting. Interesting, indeed.”   


 

 

* * *

  
  
Hermione stood in the rain, waiting. She didn’t have to wait for long. The crack of apparition drew her attention to the alley behind her. In her pocket she clutched her wand, the weight of its warm magic reassuring in her hand.   
  
She chided herself for being such a ninny, forcing herself to take a calming breath. The tall, austere figure of the aristocratic wizard never failed to remind her of old times. She’d made her peace with the Malfoys, but a part of her would never trust Lucius. Not completely.  
  
The light of the streetlamps struck the angular lines of the man’s face, made his ice blue eyes glitter with what she imagined was predatory intelligence. He came to a halt several feet away. He still carried a walking stick, and Hermione’s practised eye could tell that while it may have been an affection two decades ago, now he needed it. He was in pain.   
  
“Healer Granger. I was pleased to receive your note.”   
  
Shaking herself, Hermione gathered her wits. She stepped forward, holding a hand out to shake his in greeting.   
  
With a precise movement he’d transferred the stick to his left, freeing his right gloved hand to clasp the smaller, tapered fingers of her own.   
  
Hermione’s tongue came unstuck at last. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.” She tipped her head towards the well-lit park that she’d chosen as the sufficiently public yet also private place to have this conversation. “Shall we walk as we talk?”   
  
The wizard’s mouth tightened in displeasure; she could tell that he did not fancy the exercise. “Of course.”   
  
Without preamble, Hermione dove into the heart of the matter. “Mr Malfoy, I have some questions about a curiosity that came to my attention the night of the Yule Ball. Given the sensitive subject, I felt it prudent to meet rather than attempt written correspondence.” She knew that his mail might be monitored.   
  
Their stroll was slower, much slower than her usual pace. It took effort for her to match the older wizard’s steps. Really, Azkaban was not kind to Lucius and she wondered if he had sought out a Healer or if he was too proud. She made a mental note to speak with Draco, but she would have to be discreet.   
  
“I am listening.” Lucius was quiet and she had his full attention.   
  
Hermione thought to herself, here goes nothing. Aloud, she explained. “I took the opportunity to examine Professor Snape’s portrait in Headmistress McGonagall’s office, as your query directed my attention to the matter.” She licked her lips, not wondering for the first time just what Mr Malfoy’s intentions were in bringing up such a subject at that moment.   
  
A crescent of perfect white teeth heightened her suspicion. “And what did you find?” Lucius Malfoy was ever the consummate Slytherin.   
  
She took out her wand and performed a quick  _Muffliato_. “There is nothing wrong with Professor Snape’s portrait. Nothing at all.” She looked up, watching for his reaction. His pupils dilated, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a dry swallow.   
  
He was quiet for what felt like an eternity. “Are you certain? Surely this could be a whimsical jest, a nod to the Professor’s birthday. I don’t find many who remember him fondly. If so, it is an odd gesture, clumsily gracious. I can appreciate such an effort.” That careful response was deliberately obtuse. Hermione was certain that he knew a lot more than he was letting on. He opened his mouth to cast further confusion, or so Hermione expected.  
  
Biting down on her annoyance, she interrupted him. “I’m as serious as a heart attack. Headmaster Snape’s portrait is in perfect order. And I think you know it.” The thrill of excitement gripped her.  
  
A finely arched brow flew up in amusement at her boldness. “Suppose you are correct. What then?”  
  
He was playing with her. He was going to make her say it, damn him.   
  
The pair strolled down a mostly deserted sidewalk, sheltered by hedges. The cold and the rain were ample deterrents, but she still felt it necessary to look about before she turned back to him to hiss the shocking conclusion, “It means that he’s not dead. Professor Snape is  _alive_. And I think you know where he is.”   
  
All pleasantry dropped from Lucius’ manner of address. His eyes were sharp, his voice dangerous as he looked down at her, the ripple of his magic near, too close. “Healer Granger. What is it to you?”   
  
She had to prove to him that she meant Snape no ill will. “Is he safe? If he wishes to remain hidden, separate, I respect that.” An intense need to know, to explain to this man her thoughts loosed her lips further still. “Professor Snape owes us nothing. In fact, we owe him a great deal. If he wants to collect that debt in anonymity and privacy, it is his right. I just… I need to know that he is content.”   
  
Lucius stopped, and she interpreted his silence as incredulity.   
  
A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “Do I sound crazy?”   
  
Tension remained in the set of the wizard's jaw, a pinching about his eyes. What more could she do to convince him?   
  
“Mr Malfoy, I am a Healer. I can keep my counsel and I believe that Professor Snape deserved better than that ignoble death. I expect nothing. On my conscience I would never wish to encroach on his happiness, wherever he has found it. If you tell me to bugger off, I will. And as hard as this will be for me, I’ll let the matter drop entirely.”   
  
“And have you discussed your suspicions with anyone else?”   
  
Hermione missed her umbrella, she could feel droplets of rain running down her face. Magic could make hers impervious to the wet, but they were in muggle London, and it would be indiscreet. “Only Headmistress McGonagall, although she didn’t believe me.”   
  
“I see.” Malfoys expression was schooled, giving no indication of his reaction to her declaration.   
  
“Well?” Hermione had imagined many scenarios and her impatience was getting to her.   
  
Malfoy straightened, coming to a decision. She’d not realised until that moment how he’d been walking with a slouch, but the squaring of his shoulders took 20 years off of his perceived age. He looked up into the rain darkened sky, as if he could read the stars there through the cloud cover. “It being the day of his birth, I planned to go pay my respects. Would you like to accompany me, Healer Granger?” He offered her his arm, as though he was about to escort her to a ball.  
  
Breathless with excitement, Hermione shoved down her rational mind and its misgivings. “Yes. Very much.” She lightly placed her hand in the crook of his black-clad elbow. She could feel the man’s magic gathering, and wide-eyed she looked back over her shoulder, worried that they might be seen.   
  
Before she had a chance to voice a word of caution, she felt the pressure and twist in her belly as the wizard pulled her into the cold of that which is between.   


 

 

* * *

  
  
  
Hermione wasn’t expecting to arrive in total darkness and she became alert. A dank, musty smell assaulted her senses immediately, and the floor below her feet was uneven. “Where are we?!” Her hand, which had clutched Mr Malfoy’s arm so tightly loosed and she whipped out her wand, casting a Lumos, training the bright beam on Lucius.   
  
  
The wizard squinted, raising a shielding hand against the harsh glare. “Peace, Granger. I’ll light a lamp. One moment.” The air was much colder about them than London and his breath was visible as mist.   
  
Keeping her wand trained on him, she lowered the beam of light away from his face. Nervous, she split her attention between him and their surroundings and finally recognition set in. “You can’t be serious.” Her voice was strained, quivering in shock.  
  
The sardonic reply floated back over the man’s shoulder as he was busy with his back turned to her. “What was the expression?  _As a heart attack_.”   
  
Blinking into the dark, Hermione felt her knees turning to rubber below her. This was a mistake. She should have brought Harry along. Or included McGonagall in her plans. “I don’t understand.” Her heart sank in her chest. Professor Snape wasn’t here. What fresh hell was this?  
  
A glow brightened the room, and Hermione could see that there were still a series of crates stacked in the corner. She watched warily as Lucius bloody Malfoy transfigured two into a pair of armchairs. “I suggest you sit. This may take a while.”   
  
She stepped backwards, and the hairs on her arms and neck stood straight up. If it was cold before, this was ten times worse. Something was off.   
  
“Miss Granger.” Was it her or did Mr Malfoy look alarmed? “Please, step away from there. I’ll explain. Just... have a seat.”   
  
Shifting to the side, she felt like she stepped into a tropical jungle, the difference was so striking. “What the fuck was that?”   
  
“Language, Granger.” He seemed to be satisfied that she moved at least. He folded down into the chair, one hand plucking out a metal flask from his coat. He unscrewed the top and offered it to her.   
  
Huffing in frustration, she waved away the offer. “Talk.” She scooted about to perch on the edge of the seat.   
  
Leaning back in his chair Lucius lifted the flask to his lips and tipped it back, wincing slightly. Hermione thought she could smell something like whiskey on his breath as he spoke. “As the battle progressed, and Snape did not emerge from his meeting to return to the Dark Lord’s side, I decided to come back. It took me time to find the opportunity, but the situation I returned to was a bloodbath.”   
  
She could remember the scene, seen through very different eyes. Bitter regret twisted in her chest, and she nodded, her eyes straying to the spot where she’d left the man lying in a lake of his own blood. Dead. She’d seen his last breath. At least she thought so at the time.   
  
“Severus prepared for every possibility, but I don’t think he expected to have such extensive bite wounds in his neck.”   
  
Whipping around, Hermione’s eyes searched the face of the elder Malfoy. He was very still, watching the spot, not meeting her gaze.   
  
“It was easy enough to dose him with the antivenom, and he had a blood replenisher too. He came around briefly…”   
  
A gasp escaped her, “He wasn’t dead then? He’d only passed out.” She dropped her head down and groaned. She felt  _terrible_. Tears pricked her eyes. “Damn!”   
  
“Quite.” A rustle of fabric came from his direction, but she didn’t want to look. She didn’t want him to see her distress. She felt the cold of the flask against her hand. “Here.” Alcohol wasn’t such a bad idea.   
  
Numb, her fingers grasped the flask and she raised it to her lips. It was a good whiskey, and it warmed her mouth, its sting as it hit her throat made her cough before she handed it back.   
  
“I did what I could. Such wounds were beyond my skill to heal, you must understand.”   
  
Hermione had thought she was past this, but the knowledge burned away the careful bindings that she’d wrapped her guilt in years ago, buried in a determination to serve. To do better. To help others since she couldn’t help so many that day. Her voice shook, “He’d need immediate stabilization, an experienced Trauma Surgeon.” The detached Healer in her couldn’t help but analyze. “He couldn’t have possibly held on long enough to make it. How long after the bite did you come back?”   
  
Removing his gloves, Lucius accepted the flask back from her. “It was over an hour, I think.”   
  
Emotions informed by her own expertise roiled about in her mind. If she’d looked, she’d have seen the telltale flashes of wild magic crawling about her skin like red spiders. “It was early May, and the day wasn’t warm, but it was quite cold in here. Always, it was cold in here. The hypothermia slowed his heart rate. He had to have been in so much pain. He couldn’t breathe for Merlin’s sake.”   
  
The room swam as her eyes filled with sympathetic tears at the knowledge of the lone wizard’s suffering. She could only hope that he was unconscious for much of it.   
  
“I did manage to close his windpipe. The jugular I had less luck with. He was aware of me, but he was so weak.”   
  
A cold leaden lump, which she supposed was her heart, dropped from her chest down to somewhere about her ankles. Those tears spilled down her cheeks, unchecked. “Oh, sweet Nimue.”   
  
“He was a close friend.”   
  
_Was_. Not the answer she expected. Her mind refused to believe that after all they had been through that there wasn’t hope for Snape.   
  
“His skill at the mental disciplines was of legendary proportion and he managed to tell me that he had a device in his pocket. A time turner.” Lucius took another deep drink, wincing as he continued to explain. “I wish I knew more, that I had more time. That it was a portkey to St Mungo's. That I had any idea of what it would do.”   
  
Wait, what is this? Hermione repeated the words that she thought she’d heard. “A time turner, you said?” The very notion was completely absurd.   
  
“Yes. I later discovered that it was passed to him as a provision of Dumbledore’s will.”   
  
Mention of the old Headmaster who had masterminded Voldemort’s downfall might have reassured most people, but his involvement made Hermione uneasy. “Then what?”   
  
“I put the chain about his neck and sent it spinning. He was losing consciousness again. I admit, I panicked.”   
  
She raised her eyes, trying to read Mr Malfoy’s face. “And what happened next?”   
  
“He disappeared. Gone.” Lucius sat back, his story spent.   
  
A faint spark of hope came to life within Hermione. “That isn’t his body in that grave, is it?”   
  
“No.” He was being amazingly forthcoming.   
  
“Extraordinary.” Good thing she didn’t ask to exhume his corpse for an autopsy. Again, she put to words the question that he’d yet to answer. “So, where is he? What happened to him?”   
  
Lucius frowned and knocked back the flask once more. He looked very unhappy. “I don’t know.”   
  
“What do you mean?” She was upset. To have entertained such grief, then betraying a hint that there was the smallest possibility that he survived was making her wonder if he was playing sport with her feelings. Hermione wasn’t ready to walk away. She had to <>know</i>. “I need you to speak plainly.”   
  
“I was arrested and incarcerated before the sun set the day after the battle, but before that I had the wits to fashion fake remains. Narcissa was afforded a modicum of freedom with house arrest and I believe she suspected the truth; I told the Ministry that I sent him back to the manor to her so she could see to his burial as I knew was provisioned for in his will. Everyone was so eager to see him gone, no one questioned it.”   
  
Hermione felt her mind pull back, examining the wider picture. “Does Draco know any of this?”   
  
“No. I asked him to come to pay his respects as frequently as he could without raising suspicion. He suggested I was soft in the head when I asked if there was any sign of Severus, but I intimated that I was looking for evidence of a haunting or some other spiritual anomaly as it was a good enough lie as any other I could manage. I had my solicitors investigate the records for the School and the nearby town for stories of unclaimed corpses, or sick men appearing. I have them do it monthly. Not a single trace has been found to current date.”   
  
Running her fingers through her hair, Hermione frowned. “Did you ask the Ministry to try to locate him?”   
  
A snort from Mr Malfoy reoriented her back to harsh reality. “Of course not. To do so would trust that they were going to find him with the intention of helping him. I was certain they would use my actions in this against me. There was talk of a trial for Severus, even though he was gone and publically lauded as a hero. Once I was released, I’d all but given up until I had the bright idea of going to view Snape’s portrait. I wanted to have a chat, even if it was just with a shadow of my old friend. In doing so, I discovered that his portrait never woke.”   
  
A frisson of wonder ran down her spine as she relieved the moment she’d had the same revelation two weeks before. She whispered, “Amazing.” The chill that she experienced earlier came back to her, but what could it mean? Her eyes swivelled to the spot where the blood that painted the floorboards red was now only faintly visible.  
  
“I used the small amount of influence I still possess to have the portrait examined after reviewing the reports produced by several British experts. They reported no obvious faults and suggested an amusing range of wild explanations, including a theory that Voldemort himself must have consumed Severus’ soul, or that alternatively he’d been sent straight to hell and no magic would be able to reach him there.”  
  
Snorting, she muttered under her breath, “Ridiculous notions.” She took out her specs and stood up, intent on looking for residual magic. Perhaps the magical blood he spilt had somehow caused the cold? Was it a death curse? She had read about those, they were not so different from what Lily Potter used to protect her infant son, Harry.  
  
“The Wizarding World is already greatly indebted to you, Miss Granger, but I cannot help but wonder what marvels you could accomplish given space and infinite resources, including time. Your talents are wasted on the drudgery of the hospital wards.”   
  
Her lips twitched upwards in response to the kind words, but she was too busy to give the magnitude of such a complement proper consideration. The lenses made a satisfying click as she changed the configuration. Nothing to see on the dark spectrum. Strange.   
  
“Those spectacles are interesting.” There was an edge to Lucius’ voice, a lilt of amusement that challenged her to explain. Did he think they were a fashion decision?   
  
Flip! “I use these for work. They help me see.” Her answer was terse, distracted.  
  
“A divining spell or  _Revelio_  too crass for you?”   
  
Flip. There was definitely a vast differential in temperature over there. “Too active, Mr Malfoy. Those spells could alter the thing I mean to observe. These are passive.”   
  
“You look... “   
  
She broke off looking at the spot, daring him to finish that comment with a magnified glare.   
  
“... Academic?” Lucius retained some survival instincts after all, in spite of his droll tone.  
  
Snorting, she returned her gaze back to the spot. Flip! Her breath caught at what she saw.   
  
These lenses were straightforward, built to tell her the age of things. She’d begged one of her boffin friends in the Department of Mysteries to help her make the prototype, and had to consent to a date in order to get him to agree. Fortunately, it was a date with his son; his six-year-old son who idolized her after she’d cured him of accidental poisoning. Was that really the last date she went on? That detached voice in the back of her mind tsked and wondered if the lad was at Hogwarts yet. The voice sometimes was too much like her mother’s.   
  
The glasses registered a number where-ever she looked, standardized universal time units. There was a discrepancy in the wood. “What the…” She didn’t finish her sentence, her mouth snapping shut as she took in the information.  
  
“Healer Granger?” Hermione must have been silent too long, Lucius shifted in his seat, as if to get up.  
  
She held up a staying hand, doing complicated arithmetic in her head. “That’s… about right.” She muttered to herself. “Some time might have passed.”   
  
“ _Granger_.” Lucius’ anger broke through, prompting an answer.   
  
“Merlin!” She looked over at Malfoy. “I had my foot…” She snatched off the spectacles, not finishing that sentence in favour of scrubbing at her face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” A wave of euphoria made her heart sing as her mind chased down the many implications brought on by the revelation.   
  
Lucius was on the edge of his seat and looked to be about two breaths away from trying to shake the information out of her. “If you are going to use such vulgar language you could at least oblige me by explaining, Granger!”   
  
“He’s here. Just there.” She’d had her foot where Snape’s heart would be. A heart that both is and isn’t beating. Waiting for someone to care enough to figure it out. A heart that might yet still be saved. “I need a moment, I am trying to wrap my mind around it.” She held out the glasses. “Look for yourself.”   
  
Anxious to know more, but rather certain that she’d lost the plot, Lucius accepted the specs and put them on. They were still on the brownish lenses that were for dating things. “You are going to have to explain, Granger.”  
  
Thinking quickly, Hermione used a toe to tap a floorboard that spanned the distance between where he sat and the spot where Professor Snape disappeared. “Compare the proximal and distal ends of that one.”   
  
“Couldn’t this just reflect the effects of a transfiguration spell, perhaps used to clean up the stains?” Lucius was looking at the area, away, and back.  
  
Thinking fast, Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so. Change over to the purple lenses.”   
  
“That whole area looks different, this proves nothing.” He didn’t sound as though he really believed that.  
  
Crossing her arms, Hermione tried to break it down into the simplest of terms. “It is colder. Markedly.”   
  
“So?” He sounded a lot like Draco when challenged. One would have thought she’d asked him to understand quantum mechanics when it was a matter of simple thermodynamics, covered in A-levels.   
  
With a sigh, she reminded herself that he hadn’t her benefit of a mundane science education and explained further. “It means that the molecules there are barely vibrating at all. The opposite of chaos. Order.” She paused to look at Lucius wearing her specs. They really did look ridiculous. His pupils were HUGE. Like at least half the size of the lens. She bit down on her lip, trying to suppress a hysterical giggle.   
  
“Healer Granger. I understand that you are brilliant and that you think you are explaining, but I still don’t understand.” Malfoy was very serious, and he was starting to be truly offended. That wouldn’t do.  
  
“That Time Turner didn’t turn. I think it stopped rather than reversed.” She mused that it was a good thing that he was still seated. In fact, Lucius had the right idea. She crossed the room and plopped back down into her own chair, feeling the burden of her new understanding.  
  
The echoing question slipped from Lucius in a flat, disbelieving tone. “What?” Hermione rather thought that the wizard might be starting to get the idea, but he was trying to buy time in order to try to understand fully.   
  
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was this so difficult? She waved at the spot. “I think he’s still here. Frozen. Outside of Time. In Neutral, neither going forwards or backwards.”   
  
Snatching the glasses off of his face, Lucius looked at Hermione in wonder. “Dying?”   
  
“Snape isn’t dead yet.” She was put in mind of a particular Monty Python skit. Inwardly she added, And he is not up for going for a walk. She couldn’t help herself, giggling at the idea of Snape getting fitted into that particular role. The forbidding Potions Professor wouldn’t be an obliging corpse, not at all. He’d probably glared at the Reaper and the poor thing turned tail.   
  
“You’re either drunk or mad, Granger.” Or a bit of both. He sat back, absorbing the new possibility and in spite of his scoffing, Lucius could not conceal a broad, genuine smile.   
  
Hermione shook her head, unable to speak for the effort of holding in her hysterical laughter. Might as well be.   
  
“Bloody hell. Severus would have enjoyed this birthday party. Shabby venue, but the excellent drink and stimulating intellectual company would make up for it. To boot, there have been groundbreaking magical discoveries and he is at the centre of them all. Not bad for a night’s work, eh, old friend?”   
  
Belly starting to hurt, Hermione bent over, trying and failing to smother her chortling in her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Heh heh heh ha!”   
  
Lucius stood and walked over to the edge of the anomaly where they believed his friend was caught in time. After a moment, he poured a measure of whiskey from his flask onto the spot. “Better than wasting it on your thrice cursed grave. Bloody hell, Severus. You couldn’t have told me? Left a fucking sign?”   
  
Hermione was still lost in the mingled pleasure of their discovery, far too gone to chastise Mr Malfoy for his language. They spent the rest of the evening talking and planning, getting well and truly pissed.   
  
It was with great reluctance that the pair left The Shack, and it was very fortunate that Hermione didn’t have to be into work the following morning. Hermione Granger had a patient to save, and much to arrange. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by the sainted [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the sage-like [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by the good [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and the witty AND beautiful [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> Thanks go to alert reader, Ordinary_Magic for picking up on a discreet typo!


	4. Chapter 3: Caught Up In A Dream

Chapter 3: Caught Up In A Dream

  
  
  
Draco stood over his bench, sweat pouring down his back from the heat as he watched the surface of the tiny cauldron, stirring with precise motions. A countdown was visible only to him, projected in green onto the inside of his goggles. 4… 3… 2… 1… The number count changed to red and he reversed the direction. 17… 16…  
  
“Master Malfoy, Master Malfoy!”  
  
Gritting his teeth, Draco continued to stir, not wishing to lose his place. It was not a moment where he could brook interruption. “Stand by.” 10… 9… 8…  
  
“A message for you, sir. I was tasked to carry back your response, sir.”  
  
Taking his eyes off of the cauldron, he took in the well worn-in Apprentice greens and eager puppy-like face of the messenger. “You will have to wait.” If she was going to volunteer to be an owl, she’d better grow some talons. Draco smirked and flicked his eyes back to the cauldron as the numbers started to flash. 2… 1… Praying that he had not made a mistake, Draco held his breath.  
  
A delicate wisp of shimmering magical essence rose from the surface of the potion. Faster than a hungry dragon, Draco conjured a glass bell jar, capturing the precious mist. The hiss of a good seal signaled that the transfer was complete and he let out a satisfied sigh. “Damn, I’m good.”  
  
The sound of shuffling feet recalled his attention back to the source of interruption, so with a flick of his wand he moved the jar over to the bench and extinguished the flame. Wryly, he supposed that it would be rude to tell her to convey a categorical “No” without even bothering to hear the question. How tedious.  
  
“Now, what is so important that It was necessary to harass me personally? I do have an assistant who is supposed to take care of these matters.” Privately, he mused that he had no bacon scraps to feed the Apprentice, although she looked like she could use it.  
  
The Apprentice, a bright eyed girl from the Caribbean, offered him the scroll. “It’s from Healer Granger, sir. She was quite adamant that this be responded to right away.” She was pleasant and it was difficult to stay stern with her.  
  
Scowling, since grumpy Potions Master etiquette stated it was required for the occasion and he learned from the best, Draco popped the seal and scanned the contents. Brief. Too brief. “That’s it? Meet her in her office as soon as I can? To discuss a private project? Here I thought she’d melted her eyeballs, or picked up Scrofula.”  
  
Granger had been acting strangely in the past week. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that she had met a wizard at last. Was the private project something so delightfully personal? It seemed too good to be true. Then, he remembered the picture in the paper that morning.  
  
Featured on the front page of The Daily Prophet was a photo of his father and Granger sitting together in a cafe in Geneva last night. Her hair was unbound and the curls bounced as she gesticulated wildly. Whatever was going on, she certainly was worked up about it. His father was seated with one leg crossed over the other and his staff loosely held in a gloved hand. He barely moved, but for his eyes, which slid over to look out of the frame and directly at Draco. A moment later, the bastard smirked. Then the sequence started over once more.  
  
He forced out a hiss of frustration. Lucius Malfoy was a dangerous man, and although he loved his father, Draco was not about to leave Granger to a wolf in wizards robes even if that mass of hair was reminiscent of a obscure varietal of sheep. What did father think he was about, being seen in public with Hermione Granger? What leverage had he used to get her to go with him, and more importantly why?  
  
He needed to talk to her and very soon, before something truly disastrous happened. “Right, I’ll be there by tea. Do you think you can remember that or shall I write it down?”  
  
The girl nodded, sending her braids swinging. “I can remember that, sir. Thank you, sir.”  
  
A dismissive wave of his hand sent the witch off, sprinting as though someone’s life depended on it. 

 

* * *

  
  
Granger’s door was cracked open, so Draco didn’t bother to knock. He could hear her nattering on about something excitedly. Her hair was gathered up in a messy ponytail, bits of it escaping in enchanting way, the curls bobbing as she waved her hands about. “This has to be perfect, you know right down to the last detail. You have to see that. I need you to cooperate, Lucius.” She hadn’t been this agitated since she conned Draco into helping her study for the potions portion of her Qualifying Exams for her Healer’s Mastery. “Please.”  
  
A very familiar, cultured drawl answered her. “As much as I find this distasteful, I believe you are correct, Hermione. I cannot think of a better alternative, either.” To the left in the corner, tucked into a wing chair was his father.  
  
Lucius? Now we’re on first name basis? How did this happen? Draco cleared his throat, announcing his presence. “Granger.” He gained a degree of satisfaction from seeing the surprise on the witch’s face as she whirled around. He loved the spark of fire that brightened her eyes as she vented irritation.  
  
“There you are, at last.” She reached forwards and pulled him into the office, shutting the door behind her and warding the room. “Come in, Draco. Have a seat.”  
  
Draco eyed his father, not entirely certain of what to make of any of this. Lucius was well groomed as ever, his hairline gently receding in a way that made him look more distinguished rather than plain pathetic. Draco couldn’t remember exactly when it was that it happened, but the man’s straw colored locks had changed to a silky white suitable of a wizard entering the winter of his life. In reality, Lucius wasn’t really that old for a wizard, but the time he’d spent in Azkaban had aged him. The impact extended beyond that of the physical, creating an impression of fragility.  
  
A cup of tea materialized in the air before him, and the gentle pressure of a chair nudged against the backs of his legs in an aggressive invitation to sit. “What is going on here, Granger? You don’t have any interest in rheumatic complaints, surely?” Sitting down, Draco adjusted his work robes about him before claiming his cuppa.  
  
The subtle narrowing of Lucius’ eyes suggested that he’d hit a nerve. Good.  
  
“What? No, of course not, although I want to talk with you about that later. We’re here for something else entirely.” Hermione took the third chair. “We have a rare chance to right a terrible wrong, Draco. I want your help.”  
  
Draco’s mind took that declaration, examining it from all angles. What wrong could possibly be righted with his father involved so intimately? The children who’d been orphaned in the war were cared for, and none of the children walking the halls of Hogwarts were old enough to remember any of the fighting. “You’ve already recruited old Scamander back to lobby for the elves and the werewolves, and in fact I’d thought all of that was settled.” He sipped his tea, watching Granger with growing interest. Was she squirming?  
  
An awkward laugh escaped the witch, and she shook her head. “No, nothing on that grand a scale. This is much more personal. A man to whom we all owe a great debt.” The Gryffindor’s eyes were shining with excitement.  
  
A glance found his father’s face remained a stony mask. Whatever it was, his father was hiding something. What was the saying, “I know he lies because his lips are moving?” Secrets ran in his blood.  
  
Draco decided to tease her, as she was being obtuse. “You haven’t come up with some cockeyed plan to bring back Dumbledore, have you?”  
  
The thought had never occurred to her, for she tilted her head in obvious confused thought. He imagined that he could hear the wheels turning in that celebrated cranium. “No, not Dumbledore.”  
  
Lucius banged his stick on the floor. “For Merlin’s sake, witch! Just tell him!” Why wouldn’t his father look him in the eye?]  
  
“Right, sorry.” She licked her lips and dropped into a whisper, successfully forcing Draco to lean forwards. “It’s Snape. Severus Snape.”  
  
Shaking his head, Draco exclaimed, “You’re taking the piss.”  
  
“Draco Lucius Malfoy! Mind your tongue,” was his paternal admonishment.  
  
“Father, this is ridiculous. What in the nine hells is going on here? My godfather’s been gone for almost 15 years. Even if he faked his death, he has no pressing reason to hide. His name was cleared, he’s a hero of the realm. Hecates’ Virgin Tits, they awarded him a posthumous Order of Merlin. If Severus Snape was still drawing breath, surely he’d have dropped us a sign.” The alternative hurt to consider.  
  
“We thought he was dead.” Granger’s mouth was tight with suppressed feelings, but the unshed tears in her eyes did quite a bit to convince him that she at least believed whatever insane tale it was that Lucius spun in order to draw her in. “He’s not. He’s still there.”  
  
Comparing his father’s grim expression and Granger’s pleading eyes, Draco shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”  
  
Sniffing, Granger took the lead, shielding his father from having to explain himself. “It all started with Professor Snape’s portrait in the Headmistress’ office. It never woke up properly, you see.”  
  
He’d always assumed someone cursed the painting in vengeance since the man himself was well beyond everyone’s reach.  
  
“Your father showed an interest in it at the Yule Ball, and so by inquiring, he piqued my curiosity.”  
  
“Granger, you have always been so easy to manipulate. No doubt that was his intention.” Draco felt slightly better. The Healer was much like a cat, curiosity overruling her better judgment.  
  
Hermione looked lovely when she was flustered. The shock widened her amber eyes for a fleeting moment before her mouth firmed and she lifted her chin in defiance. It didn’t stop the colour from reaching her cheeks.  
  
And satisfaction brought the cat back. A glint of smugness danced in the elder Malfoy’s blue eyes, but Lucius did manage to maintain that irritating mask of polite interest.  
  
Draco frowned at his father, an old simmering resentment coming to the surface, one he’d thought long extinguished. “I thought there might be something going on. Snape’s body was entombed, quickly. Given the rumours, there wasn’t much of the man left to look at.” Draco set down his tea on the floor beside him, lest his hands shake it all over his robes. “I cannot say I regretted missing that particular horror show.”  
  
Speaking for himself at last, Lucius interjected. “I make regular inquiries to see if anything has changed. We’d called in the world experts on magical art, and no one had been able to find the problem.”  
  
“Draco, get this: Filch hung the portrait himself!” Hermione always had to have the last word, didn’t she?  
  
Frowning, Draco opened his mouth to ask, but Granger spoke right over him.  
  
“That’s all wrong! The castle automatically hangs portraits of old Headmasters when they die. And there’s nothing wrong with the painting. I examined it myself.” She was looking at him expectantly.  
  
Rolling his eyes Draco couldn’t resist a jibe in the witch’s direction, “Because you have become a world renowned expert on living portraits in your free time, Granger?”  
  
Not rising to the challenge, she waved this away. “Of course not. I had my spec’s with me, and I could see it. The enchantments were all still in place and the drop of Snape’s magical essence was still there too. I compared it with the other portraits. There was no difference in the structure!”  
  
“That is hardly sufficient evidence to think that Snape is still alive, Granger.”  
  
Impatient, Hermione shook her head. “I agree, but as you pointed out, it did get me interested in the mystery. I decided to ask your father. McGonagall didn’t know anything, and neither did Dumbledore’s portrait. Your father was the only other living person who had an open interest in Snape’s portrait, and you won’t believe this, but it turns out that Snape is still there. He never left!”  
  
Blinking, Draco tried to figure out what Hermione was talking about. “He isn’t, Hermione. I’ve been up to the Shack to pay my respects with and without father. I visit when I can, but he isn’t there. The Shrieking Shack still isn’t haunted.” He felt let down, like he was learning of Snape’s death all over again.  
  
“I had thought I was one of the last people to see Professor Snape alive, but it turns out that I was hasty in that conclusion.” She threw a furtive glance at Lucius.  
  
Clearing his throat, father spoke in a pained way. “Severus was still alive when I circled back, Draco.”  
  
Draco’s mouth went slack with shock.  
  
“I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell your mother, either. Severus was barely alive. I found the potions he needed in his pockets, the antivenom, a blood replenishment potion, but the wound just wouldn’t close with the limited healing spells I knew. I was certain he was beyond help. Then, mind to mind, he showed me a device, wanted me to use it on him. It was a sort of time turner, or so I thought.”  
  
Granger jumped in, “A prototype, not one that really worked, mind you. Your father had no way of knowing that, and neither did Snape. It malfunctioned in the strangest but most wonderful way.” She smiled brightly.  
  
“It could have been a port key.” Draco felt obliged to argue. To do otherwise was to give further legitimacy to this insane fantasy.  
  
Lucius shook his head. “There was no spinning, no blue glow of activation. Besides, the mechanism looked a lot like a time turner.”  
  
“Let me get this straight. Snape was dead when you left him, Granger, by your own account with a great bloody wound made by that horrible snake. Now, father says he wasn’t in fact dead and used a broken time turner on him out of desperation. What is wonderful about that, I’d like to know? We’re going to have to set a vigil for all time, waiting for the inevitable moment that he finally arrives. Or perhaps not, for wouldn’t he have done so already? For all we know he was dinosaur food and there is nothing that could bring him back.” He was ready to jump out of his seat. Draco really wanted to believe that Snape was salvageable, but his reason wouldn’t allow his heart to run amuck in such a irresponsible way.  
  
A corner of his father’s mouth twitched up. “Easy, son. Just listen to her.”  
  
“He’s frozen in time. Stuck out of phase. Snape is still there, Draco. In that terrible Shack.”  
  
“Snape, the Great War hero. My godfather. The only soul who the Dark Lord regretted killing, is in fact, _alive_?”  
  
Granger picked up her tea, wrapping her hands around it. “Yes. That’s what we are trying to tell you, Draco. Professor Snape is not dead. He’s not dead yet, Draco. Not technically.”  
  
A delicate snort from his father jarred Draco out of it. “I hope you aren’t kidding, Granger. This would be the least funny joke I’ve ever heard.” Mouth dry, he licked his lips before asking, “So what were you doing in Geneva?”  
  
“Recruiting an expert. Dr Romana Lundar.” The name didn’t mean anything to Draco, but he didn’t have to wait for more information. “She’s the leading expert on modern applied time magic.”  
  
Lucius reached in his robe and pulled out a flask, and poured some into his cup. He offered it up to Granger with a wry smile. “Care for a splash, Hermione?” When she shook her head no, he held it out to Draco who doctored his own tea gratefully.  
  
This really did call for a drink. Draco lifted his cup in salute to his father and Granger. “To Severus, might he scowl again!”  
  
“To the return of Severus Snape, may he forgive us all.” Lucius was quite serious.  
  
The manic grin that was on Granger’s face vanished, and she lifted her own cup, mostly empty. “Professor Snape, may the balance of karma give him two moments of joy for every second of suffering he’s endured.”  
  
All three sipped their tea, and fell into a thoughtful silence. It was then that Draco noticed the pensive on Granger’s desk. It was used sometimes in her line of work, when she needed to understand the cause of curses or magical injuries from the first hand point of view. It was very useful. “So, Granger. What’s the damage?”  
  
She was refilling her cup as she spoke. “I was hoping to get a better idea from your father. I think prolonged exposure to Nagini’s venom made it impossible to heal the jugular laceration. Blood loss and subsequent shock are a given.”  
  
“And you need me to help you in what way exactly?” He already had an idea of what she wanted, but it was better for her to be specific.  
  
Draco Malfoy was a colleague of Hermione’s, working as a Potions Master for St Mungo’s. They shared classes as they trained for their Masteries and in so doing forged a sort of truce between them. As fellows on the wards, when other jealous trainees conspired to humiliate and ostracize her, he had her back. In turn, she ran interference for him when he became the target of attempts at revenge.  
  
Once she defended him when he was accused of attempting to poison a minor Ministry bureaucrat. The officious oaf had come in for treatment of a splinching and _would not leave_ the hospital. Draco may have mixed the man’s pain draught with extra laxatives, but then again the Attending Healer had emphasized the risks of obstipation and expounded on the subject at nauseating length the week before during teaching rounds. He should have had more restraint, but it was impossible to suppress a smirk when the farting, sweating wizard told the dramatic tale of how horrible his night had been. The patient demanded transfer to a private, non-teaching service and lodged a formal complaint. Draco was the team’s hero and took his dressing down with grace. The free drinks at the pub afterwards more than made up for it.  
  
Granger excelled at annoying the ever-loving fuck out of him. He gave as good as she dished out with panache; it was as instinctive for him to balance on her very last nerve as it was for angels to balance on the head of a pin. Picking on one another evolved into a game of one-upmanship and passed the time.  
  
That said, when things were dire he knew he could call on her. Sometimes she would come to him with difficult clinical problems, using him as a sounding board. It was an uneasy sort of peace. They trusted one another, although he knew better than to apply the word _friendship_ to their association, at least aloud.  
  
Lucius answered, “Until we ascertain Severus’ wishes, it is of primary importance that we maintain secrecy. You have the training, knowledge and experience to assist Miss, excuse me, Healer Granger. And I know you are capable of keeping your mouth shut, son.”  
  
“You’re the best wizard for the job. Come on, Draco. Be my second. What do you say?”

 

* * *

  
  
Preening, Draco pressed, “Was that a complement, Healer Granger?”  
  
The witch fixed him with an incredulous look. “As if your ego needs any more fuel.”  
  
Draco folded his arms, “Now that’s not very nice, Granger. Go on, say it.”  
  
Hermione looked over at Lucius and found no help whatsoever. A faint lifting of Lucius’ brows reminded her that she was in for a Knut already. Huffing in irritation, she gave in. “Draco, you’re an excellent potioneer and the only other person in this building that I would trust to keep Professor Snape’s secret. Please help us. For Snape’s sake, mind you.”  
  
Draco made a show of examining his nails. “I suppose I might be able to work it into my busy schedule. Since you asked so prettily.”  
  
Blushing, Hermione looked away. “Oh, shut it, you.” She relaxed back into her chair, crossing her ankles.  
  
Laughing, Draco went on, “I am surprised at you, Granger. I would think that you would want to shout your discoveries to the rafters.”  
  
The witch sombered, “This isn’t about me, or you, or anyone other than Professor Snape. He deserves a choice. And since he asked for help from your father, I think he was choosing to live at any cost. I don’t know if he wants to disappear but if that is what he desires, then I owe him at very least my silence on the subject. It is a matter of honor and respect, don’t you think?”  
  
“Spoken like a true Gryffindor.” Draco was pleased that the little witch was in Snape’s corner. He needed a champion.  
  
That drew a bitter laugh from Granger. “Quite. That’s something he’d say.” Her lips twitched up, “Followed by taking points.”  
  
Lucius spoke, “Five points from Gryffindor for faffing about.” He joined in the laughter, a very alien sound to Draco.  
  
“You can’t do that!”  
  
“I was a Prefect, Granger. Shall I assign you both detentions too?” He waved his cane. “You wanted my memories. Let’s get on with it.”  
  
  


 

* * *

 

  
Professor Lundar arrived the following week. Her post graduate work in time theory was, with the exception of her doctoral thesis, all kept as a state secret. The spritely witch was definitely an odd duck. She wore those strange muggle shoes that were fashioned to fit over each individual toe and corduroy pantsuits. She made this cheerful brrrrupt brrrrupt sound as she walked, and Hermione rather doubted that she had any awareness of the spectacle she made. She knew it was taking a lot of effort for Draco to not comment.  
  
Hermione Granger had requested and was granted a leave of absence. She’d rarely taken time off and her superiors had been hinting that she needed to slow down during her performance reviews. It wouldn’t do for Healer Granger, member of the Golden Trio, to end up in the Janus Thickey ward downstairs because she overextended herself.  
  
Lucius and Draco offered the use of a cottage on the edges of Hogsmeade to the witches as their base of operation.  
  
“You said a it was a cottage, Draco.” Hermione was reproachful as she looked up at the white granite walls of the luxury home surrounded by formal gardens. A staff stood at the door, ready to welcome their guests.  
  
Romana smiled brightly, “What is this? Are we stopping for a tour? I do love the history of this country.”  
  
Sniffing, Lucius answered, “You certainly didn’t believe that I would stay at the Three Broomsticks for school events, did you, Healer Granger?”  
  
Actually, in a world where people could travel by floor or apparition, Hermione rather thought he’d stay at home, and said so.  
  
“Since the war, this whole township has been very tightly controlled. Apparition is restricted, and the castle’s floo network was materially damaged. I’m afraid that it is portkey or nothing, and I’ve not the stomach for it.”  
  
Hermione looked at Draco, who shrugged with an apologetic, “Sorry, thought you knew, Granger.”  
  
“But not the Shrieking Shack.”  
  
Lucius nodded. “Quite so. I managed to get the place protected before the Hogsmeade town council ordered it pulled down. My solicitor bought it under the pretense of making it a historic property, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Who owned it before that?” Romana was very inquisitive.  
  
“Dumbledore willed the property to Hogwarts. Once I made the purchase, the school wards were retracted, and as it had been almost a decade, the authorities overlooked the change, and I didn’t think it was worth reminding them.”  
  
“How did you keep the students out of it?”  
  
“The tunnel from the Whomping Willow collapsed and was never rebuilt. The Shack, since it was nailed shut can only be accessed by apparition. Students still snoop about the outside, generally are too wise to attempt a blind apparition. Even so, the building has been warded against fire and vandalism so there is little they could do.” The elder Malfoy gestured to the door. “Now, are you going to keep me out here in the cold, or shall we proceed inside?” 

 

* * *

 

Mr. Malfoy insisted on extracting his memory for the team each time it was viewed, and reclaimed it after a short interval. He was concerned about security, and Hermione could understand that such a memory was intensely private. She and Draco had already reviewed it over and over together until the shape of the rips in Snape’s neck had been burned into her memory. The flow of blood into the area acted as cloak, hiding further horrors beneath it all.  
  
Hermione felt compelled to accompany Dr Lundar while she did her own viewing. It was only the second day, but Romana was still profoundly affected by the scene. She vomited part way through on the first viewing, and it was a good thing that Lucius was still there, standing ready to answer questions.  
  
Today, she was pale and had been withdrawn, thoughtful. Neither witch had spoken for a good portion of the morning, so it took a moment for Hermione to register that she’d been asked a question, too deep in her own thoughts. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I was woolgathering.”  
  
“I asked if you could tell me more of this Snape comrade. I’ve done background research of my own.” She hurried to clarify as Hermione looked at her in obvious alarm, “Discreetly of course. History books paint a rather, shall we say, confusing picture.”  
  
Summoning tea, Hermione considered her answer. “Severus Snape is a complicated man. I am not sure I can explain all of the particulars, for I was a student of his for six years, and not one of his favoured pupils. You might best ask one of the Malfoys, Draco was his protege.”  
  
Looking thoughtful, Romana took the proffered cup from her hostess, and pressed on. “I understand but they are so guarded. I am afraid of offending them. The most outstanding contradictions are surely ones you are familiar with? For example, Severus Snape was responsible for the death of Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was his protector and mentor, so it is surprising that he was able to do it, using an unforgivable spell. Wouldn’t he be prosecuted?”  
  
Wincing, Hermione nodded. “There was a formal trial held already before the Wizengamot and he was exonerated on all counts save one. The Minister went on to issue him a pardon for taking the Dark Mark.”  
  
“Alright, then. What about his conduct as a teacher and Headmaster? Multiple accounts report that he was an unpleasant, boorish wizard who thought nothing of being cruel to the children in his charge. His tenure as Headmaster remains a black mark on the school’s history. Are we really doing the world a service by bringing such a man back?” Romana sipped her tea and Hermione didn’t detect any particular resentment in the witch’s demeanor, rather a bright sort of curiosity.  
  
After she set down her cup of tea, Hermione shifted in her seat, trying to formulate an adequate answer. “As a wizard Professor Snape is quite powerful, versed in all of the mental disciplines and a Master in his own right. However, his true genius was in the discipline of Potions. He did have quite a lot of talent in practical magics. He was writing his own spells well before he graduated from Hogwarts, ones that are more commonly used now that they have been added to the standard spellbooks.”  
  
“Which ones?”  
  
“Muffliato and langlock are the most well known.”  
  
Romana’s brow rose, “Ah, yes. I have heard of the first. I take it that the second does exactly what it says?”  
  
“Yes. As a student I admired Professor Snape for his brilliant mind. He obtained his Mastery by age 22, and he was the youngest person in history to be appointed to the faculty at Hogwarts. He had a gift for language and a presence that could command the attention of even the most callow of audiences.”  
  
Hermione scrubbed at her face before continuing, “I am painting a rosy picture and that is incomplete. He was chocked full of thorns. As a teacher, he was just short of an absolute bastard. Professor Snape treated my friend Harry, and really all of us, with absolute contempt. As a teacher he was strict, exacting, and complements were an anathema if you were not sorted Slytherin. His insults were biting and cruel.” She grimaced. “He took house points from me once for _being an insufferable know-it-all_.”  
  
“Hermione, if I did not know you felt otherwise, I would say this man is not worth all of this effort. I am astonished.”  
  
“I believe that he is both the best and worst of men. It is important that you recall that I was his student, and I never truly knew him. I’d always suspected that there was more to the wizard, and it wasn’t until he shared those critical memories at the Battle that I was certain of his loyalties. As a double agent, he had a persona to maintain and it was critical that he remain aloof from Harry.”  
  
Impatient, Romana waved a hand. “Yes, of course. I understand that, but many years have passed. Why do you owe him this effort now? It is not a small undertaking and to be doing it in secret from your own Ministry is risky. He will keep in this state. Indefinitely.”  
  
“Throughout our schooling his actions spoke where he did not. He was there for us, every step of the way. He saved my life at least three times that I can think of and probably more that I never knew. That was his way, always supporting from behind. He made Dumbledore promise to never tell of his vow to keep Harry safe and protected. He went through so much pain and did it all basically in isolation, unsupported. No one liked him, no one trusted him. I did for years, but at the last after he’d killed Dumbledore I am afraid I was forced to withdraw my good opinion for a time.”  
  
“Ahhh. I see. Is this some lingering schoolgirl infatuation?” Romana’s hazel eyes sparkled with mirth.  
  
“No!” Hermione blushed. “Merlin forbid, no. He’d probably spit on me as soon as look at me.” Her voice softened, “I do owe him a great deal. We are not bringing Professor Snape back because the world needs him, not at all. I, at least, am doing it because he deserves a chance at a good life. He spent all of his adult years caught up in a dangerous gambit, and dammit he succeeded. It is a travesty that he’s lost so much time already!”  
  
“Your efforts aim to ameliorate your own guilt, or is it more than that?”  
  
Shrugging, Hermione tilted her head. “I’ve always fought for what is right, or at least I tried to. After all I’ve done and seen, it is the only thing that helps me sleep at night. Once I discovered this tangle, there was nothing else for it. I had to try to help.” She smiled shyly. “Also, I do love a challenge. I am very interested in time magic. I once used a time turner when I was thirteen for a whole school year.”  
  
“Truly? That seems awfully young for such a responsibility.” The witch looked disturbed for certain.  
  
“Yes, it was. My mentor felt it best for my education. I took all of the classes that year. By the next year I’d decided it was too taxing, even with the extra time to study and get work done.” She looked away before admitting, “I grossly overspent my time, using it daily without breaks. I think I might be a year older than I am meant to be.”  
  
“How much!?”  
  
“Oh, I am 33 officially. Unofficially I can’t be sure.” Hermione shrugged. “It makes little difference when you look forwards to a long life. I feel older than my years most days, honestly.” She summoned a bright smile. “No use in complaining, no one would listen anyway.” She flexed her hands, massaging warmth into the fingertips.  
  
The brunette leaned forwards to put a hand on Hermione’s arm. “Surely someone must have an interest?”  
  
“Well, my parents do but they don’t understand why I am so driven. Every conversation seems to end badly nowadays.” She shrugged again.  
  
“Are you an only child?”  
  
Bitter amusement tinged Hermione’s response. “How could you tell?”  
  
“There is something about your independence that speaks to it. You are too used to relying only on yourself.”  
  
“That’s the Gryffindor in me, I suppose.” Hermione shifted in her seat, jarring the well meaning hand away. “I find that I am not particularly good at relationships. Unless that relationship is with a good book.” She pasted an unfelt smile on, hoping this would satisfy the witch.  
  
Straightening, Romana smiled warmly at Hermione. “Well, I find your company stimulating. Perhaps you just haven’t found the right people yet.”  
  
“You might be right. I am out of step with my friends, in a different phase of life. Mum would say I’m a late bloomer, I suppose, but I think she is still hoping for grandchildren that are not furry and possessed of a tail.”  
  
Refilling her cup, Romana chuckled and changed the subject. “I wanted to go over my thoughts on how we might be able to disrupt the time trap that your Professor Snape is caught up in. It isn’t possible to get inside of the trap with him…” 

 

* * *

 

Draco started to work from home, which he rationalized was being done specifically for the purpose of helping out with the demands of running his family’s estate. It was partially true, after all. He and his father had gone over the holdings that had been Snape’s, the men thinking of options that would be open to their friend. His father, given what he knew, had spent time investing Severus’ money well. There was nothing he could do from Azkaban when the town of Cokesworth demanded the sale of the abandoned property, but again Lucius’ solicitor had good judgement, and had taken the contents of the building and placed them in storage until the Malfoys were free to deal with it. Neither had any interest or the stomach for it, so the Potions Master’s effects remained untouched.  
  
While Granger, Lundar and Draco spent time pouring over his memory of Snape’s last known moments, Lucius set up a suite for the man. He couldn’t recover the books that Snape left to the school, not without telling McGonagall and the rest of the world of the possible impending re-emergence of Severus Snape. The man was reviled and adored in equal measure, although Lucius thought he’d be more comfortable with the former over the latter.  
  
Over dinner, Lucius brought up a subject that they’d all thought about privately, but none voiced up until then. “Healer Granger, I wanted to take a moment to thank you for what you are about to do for Severus.”  
  
The witch flushed, her mouth opening to offer modest refusals of thanks, but remained silent at his warding hand.  
  
“Peace. Now, I know that you all are very invested in this case, as you have labeled it, but I wanted to bring up the subject of failure.”  
  
The energy in the room died down immediately. Draco was the least put off by the subject, but Granger and Lundar were both wide eyed.  
  
“Severus knew how injured he was; I saw it when he showed me his thoughts. He understood the risks from the start. He expected to die among his enemies, reviled by his allies.”  
  
Stiffening her spine, Granger shook herself out of it first. “Failure isn’t an option.”  
  
“Be that as it may, I think it is important that whatever happens that he be surrounded by people who wish him well, whether he lives or dies under our efforts to save him.”  
  
Draco, uncharacteristically misty eyed spoke, “Surely you don’t expect him to be aware of us when we bring him back?” He looked over at Romana.  
  
The witch shrugged, “I don’t think the displacement will have altered his mental or magical capacity in any way.”  
  
“If it looks like you can’t save him, Healer Granger, I’d like you to assure me you will see to it that he will not be in pain any longer.”  
  
As a young, idealistic student Hermione would have been horrified at what was being asked of her. As a veteran of battle, and a survivor of torture, she had a better understanding than most of what Professor Snape was likely to be experiencing when they brought him back. Now she was an experienced Healer who dealt on a regular basis with death, both the peaceful and the kind that happens in spite of a mighty struggle. Lucius wanted her to use her judgement.  
  
“Father, I don’t think that is fair…”

  
Granger interrupted Draco, “Hush. It is a reasonable request. A peaceful death with dignity in the face of no possible recourse is not a failure, Mr Malfoy. As much as it would break my heart, I am strong enough to let a patient go.”  
  
Lundar looked around the table thoughtfully. “What will happen to you all if Snape does die. Will there be trouble?”  
  
Drumming his fingers on the table, Lucius looked out the window, as if he could see into the towers of Hogwarts from here. “That greatly depends on McGonagall, now, doesn’t it?”  
  
Frowning, Granger asked, “I know this is not the way you would normally operate, but don’t you think it might be a good idea to give the Headmistress a warning about what we might be about to do?”  
  
Lucius looked about the little company. “I don’t know.”  
  
“It might be a good idea to have her in on this, as a witness. Whether things go well or poorly, there will be consequences. If she could be persuaded, she would be a powerful ally to Professor Snape.”  
  
“I thought they’d left things on bad terms.” Draco had been there when Snape was chased out of the school.  
  
Nodding sadly, Granger acknowledged the rift that existed between the two. “That had been the case up until the moment that the truth was made widely known by Harry. Since that moment, she’s spoken up for him whenever he needed defending, and was very fond of him. Honestly, Mr Malfoy, I think we should tell her.”  
  
Draco was shaking his head. “It isn’t necessary, Granger. If we fail, the portrait will wake up. If we succeed, then nothing changes. Severus will have his chance to decide for himself.”  
  
Hands steepled before him, Lucius nodded. “I shall have to think on this longer.” Cold blue eyes found Granger’s warm brown, “Until I decided I expect you to maintain the secrecy. No hints, no invitations to tea, Healer Granger, alright?”  
  
Granger dropped her gaze and nodded in agreement. “I can keep my mouth shut, Mr Malfoy, as much as it pains me.”  
  
Draco couldn’t help himself. “Really? That’s all I had to do in order to get you to stop yammering incessantly? That could have saved me a lot of pain.” He ducked as Granger tossed a roll at his head. “Hey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by the head honcho [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the handy [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by the helpful [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and the hilarious [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> 


	5. Chapter 4: Don’t Know Where His Journey Will End

Chapter 4: Don’t Know Where His Journey Will End

  
  
  
It was a chilly late January morning and yet Hermione could have been walking about naked and not noticed. She was intensely wrapped up in the preparations to make a go of “Operation Wake Up the Prince.” The name was jokingly suggested by Draco. Hermione secretly loved his twisted sense of humour but feigned offence often, especially if anyone else was within earshot. She knew he picked those particular words to tease her, the Princess of Gryffindor. She _was_ haring off to play hero, and why shouldn’t she? Saving lives was her job, and she was one of the best Healers out there, and it had been her mind that led the team to this point.  
  
Together, Hermione and Draco practised simulation after simulation of what they would do when Snape was retrieved from his entrapment. She’d nearly driven Draco spare with revisions and variation upon variation of how things might play out although it would be his breath of life tonic, a potion that was administered as a mist, that would give their patient the edge he needed to pull away from death at the last hour.  
  
Draco had not needed to develop a new recipe for the antidote to Nagini’s venom, as Professor Snape had shared it with St Mungo’s when he’d saved Arthur Weasley’s life. It may have been an updated, more refined version that Snape kept on his person, but they knew theirs would work. Hermione already had ample experience in treating bites, stings, goring, and burns. In short, she was an expert in all manner of magical creature inflicted injuries. She was also quite facile with spell damage, curses, and poisoning. One of her muggle-born colleagues compared her to the television character, House, who’d obtained expertise in the most obscure subspecialties and was a misanthropic medical genius. She’d not know what to make of that comparison, although her first impulse was to take it as an insult.  
  
When her Apprentice lectures covered the subject of venomous snake bites, Hermione fell into a black depression that rivalled the one she’d suffered immediately after the war. She couldn’t wrestle away the guilt she felt as they covered the material which might have allowed her to help Professor Snape. Draco knew what she was thinking, he was in the same headspace and fortunately for her, he needed to talk about it as badly as she did. He cornered her, broke open a bottle of insanely expensive wine, and together they spent an evening arguing over the what-ifs, mourning the lost opportunity to save a man who’d fundamentally shaped both of their lives.  
  
What a fantastic turn of events that they’d a chance now to act on the agony of tortured regret expressed so long ago.  
  
Right now, Dr Lundar was setting up her equipment in the Shack. She’d chased everyone out of the room, the distraction of people looking over her shoulder being too much for her to bear.  
  
Last night over supper she’d expressed the expectation that she’d be ready to make the attempt today. Her proposed experimental solution had Hermione’s bushy hair standing on end in worry. There could not be any test runs or simulations. If she failed, they _may_ be able to try again. Romana had rattled off a series of horrifying iterations of potential failures and resultant consequences with technical precision. Her light tone and smiles made no one feel better. Ripping a hole in the time stream could draw them all in, leaving the whole team trapped for all eternity. That could hardly be considered a holiday excursion, although Romana found it exciting. She was sure that they’d get out of it, one way or another.  
  
Lucius voiced what everyone in the room had been thinking at the time. “Dr Lundar, oughtn’t we consider further testing? Are there other experts you would like invited in to offer their opinions?”  
  
“No, no that wouldn’t do! If we bring in anyone else that would be another person and if it comes down to that we might as well invite your friends from the Ministry to saddle us with your English Unspeakable bores, who’d just as soon prosecute us as help us. You lost many of your best minds to the wars, Mr Malfoy. I won’t allow a second-rate researcher to get in my way. Let them trail after me later, should we succeed and choose to share our discoveries with them. Unless you are unhappy with my work?” Hermione admired Romana even more. She might have been odd and soft-spoken but she sure wasn’t thrown off by the Malfoy’s reputations.  
  
Pained, Lucius moved to reassure the Time expert, “No, I am certain you are the best witch for the task. You must admit the chance of failure is difficult to accept for a wizard such as myself. I am accustomed to being in complete control.”  
  
“Then let me show you what I am doing and maybe having a better understanding will reassure you.” She’d brought out pages of arithmetic calculations and gone over them with the team in painful detail. Hermione was able to follow only about three-quarters of it. When the daft, possibly certifiable, witch postulated that all was needed was a “percussive readjustment to the time stream” using the blunt force of huon particle pulsations, Hermione latched on to the meaning straight away.  
  
“Did you just say you were going to essentially whack the Professor with a magical time-hammer?” Hermione’s voice was an appalled whisper.  
  
Romana beamed happily, glad to be so well understood. “Well, I am going to set up a larger field around him, make sure it runs parallel to your Prince’s resonance patterns and then, as you say, give it all a good whack.” Chuckling, she added with a wink, “It wouldn’t do to, as you say, whack him hard enough that he would find himself attending Merlin’s seventeenth birthday party.”  
  
Colour drained from Hermione’s face, “That wouldn’t happen, right? You wouldn’t let that happen!” Her pitch rose into a squeak with anxiety. She became even more alarmed as Romana dissolved into a fit of cackling laughter that would suit a stage villain.  
  
Hermione spun to face the two Malfoys, her heart in her mouth. “Maybe we really should wait.” She stopped when she noticed that both of the Malfoy men were fixing her with the most annoyingly smug expressions.  
  
Still alive with mirth, Romana patted Hermione on the shoulder. “No, of course not. Certainly no further back than last week, and we already know how that turned out, now don’t we?” She seemed to believe that this was enough evidence.  
  
Frowning, Hermione struggled with an urge to race down to the Shack, just to make absolutely certain that there was no sign of a struggle or of Professor Snape. Plans for wards to place on the area that would trip if disturbed formed in her mind. Her warding spells could be a bit rusty, but she was sure she could do it. “I… I think I need to take a walk.”  
  
“Before you go, Hermione, I need you to wear this crystal between now and tomorrow.” Romana fished a glittering multifaceted crystal out of her pocket, and held it out to her, suspended on a silver chain. The crystal was deep purple, almost black, and Hermione felt a gentle attraction towards it.  
  
“Why?” Hermione reached out, hesitating to touch it.  
  
Rolling her eyes as though Hermione should have known the answer already, Romana said, “Huon particles. You said you wore a Time Turner and spent over a year of your life living twice over, did you not?”  
  
Draco looked straight at Hermione. “What Time Turner?”  
  
Hermione had a sinking feeling because Draco never really let their old rivalry die, and this would be like pouring petrol on the blaze. “Third year at Hogwarts. I needed it to attend all of the elective classes.” She turned back to Romana, “So, this thing will absorb what you need?”  
  
“I have some of my own, but I don’t think it would hurt to collect more. Would you mind? Your magic won’t be affected at all.”  
  
Not one to let anything go, Draco interrupted the witches. “Granger, are you telling me that you cheated your way through that year?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Wait a moment. I never did figure out how that hippogryph escaped. It was you.” His eyes widened, and he didn’t give her a chance to answer before he pressed her further. “What else did you do with it, Granger?”  
  
“Sod off, Malfoy.” Hermione snatched the crystal from Romana and clumsily hung it about her own neck. “I’m going out. I need to think. Don’t wait up for me.”  
  
“Granger!” Draco moved to follow her out of the room, but his father’s steadying hand on his shoulder stopped him.  
  
“Draco, son. Leave her be.”  
  
“But father, I knew she and Potter were up to no good, and Dumbledore let her have a Time Turner! Why didn’t I have one too?”  
  
“Let it be, Draco.” Lucius was failing to suppress a smirk as shades of his son’s much younger self were surfacing after all this time.  
  
Instead of pouting, Draco cocked his head with a curious expression. “Did you just quote a Beatles song, Father?”  
  
“No.” His left eyelid twitched, marring the otherwise perfectly bland expression that should have accompanied that lie.  
  
Draco crowed, “Muggle music, father? I am shocked.” The younger Malfoy had a taste for it too, but his Lady Mother strongly disapproved of such vulgarity.  
  
Lucius did not look embarrassed in the least, in spite of being caught out in a falsehood. Reluctant, he confirmed the notion. “I may have had a taste for it in my misspent youth. You have to admit there is a lot more of muggle music. I absolutely cannot stand Celestina Warbeck.”  
  
Hermione paused just outside the door, and a fleeting moment of eye contact with the elder Malfoy initiated her as a co-conspirator. The shocking musical revelation was little more than an improvised distraction, meant to allow her an exit.  
  
She imagined what the long watch of the past 14 years had been like for Lucius, admiring his loyalty. There was no way for him to know what had happened to Professor Snape, but still he waited. Had he envisioned a wild descent backwards into the time stream, his friend alone and in agony, close to death?  
  
It was the inert painting hanging on the wall in the Headmistress’ office that kept hope alive for the former Death Eater. Now he wasn’t alone in his vigil any longer.  
  
The cold hike to the Apparition point in the dark helped to clear away the remaining cobwebs of anxiety from her mind.  
  
By the time her feet hit the floor of the Shack, it was the work of a moment to confirm that nothing had changed. Just to be safe, she set a basic trip-ward about the room before she headed back to the cottage. As unlikely as it might be, she’d clung to a worry that he could appear when they were so close, and this measure put her at ease.  
  
When she returned, the Malfoy men were huddled together over the flat screen of an iPad. “Opa Gangnam style! Hey! Hey! Hey, sexy lady?” Hermione ghosted past and held in a shocked chuckle, lest she be forced to endure any more muggle top hits. She made her way back to her room and lost herself in a good book.  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione was startled from her thoughts as the door to the veranda slammed shut. Draco, appropriately attired in cloak and gloves sauntered over. “Granger, have you managed to eat any breakfast?”  
  
“Yeah, I was up with Romana at first light.” She traced the fine chain about her neck. She’d tried to hand it over at the breakfast table and was told to keep it on until Romana asked for it later. Hermione didn’t like wearing jewellery in general. It reminded her of the months she’d endured under the malignant influence of Voldemort’s Horcrux, Slytherin's locket.  
  
Blinking she came to a stop, her steps interrupted by Draco, who’d set himself in the middle of the path she’d been wearing into the snow. “Thanks for asking.” She’d intended to be polite, but she was so tense it sounded like an admonishment.  
  
Unaffect ed, he asked, “Shall I fetch you a cup of tea?” Draco’s ability to remain unruffled under pressure was a point of envy for Hermione. While he only became more genteel and pleasant, Hermione became snappish, or worse, an unbearable harpy.  
  
“No thanks, I’d rather not have a full belly when Romana calls us.” Internally she added, _or a full bladder_.  
  
Hermione’s usual daily ritual wasn’t built to hold up under this protracted tension. Usually, emergencies didn’t afford her the luxury of working up a case of nerves. Planned interventions such as these were almost unheard of unless she was asked to set up a field hospital for the Ministry with expected injuries. St Mungo’s had not been called on for this for years.  
  
She preferred to wear scrubs instead of traditional healer’s robes. Scrubs were simple, easy to move in, and in her case made of fabric that was charmed to repel bodily fluids and maintain her core temperature just a little below normal as Healing was hot work. The shirt’s sleeves were short, exposing her well-muscled forearms, scars and all. Her hands were strong, nails kept short and free of varnish. Her mother always told her that her nails were pretty enough without adornment, and that suited Hermione. She never could find time for it.  
  
Hermione’s hair was her one vanity, although she knew it wasn’t widely felt to be her best feature. While working, she kept it bound in any number of updos. She resorted to depending on charms to style the beastly locks, along with a hair tonic that Draco’d made for her out of pity. Or equally likely, self-preservation. Take your pick. He claimed that her hair was prehensile and would attempt to strangle him if he got too close if she were in a certain mood. Somehow the edge of disdain made it easier to accept his kindness.  
  
“Have you been for your walkies yet?” There it was, a mocking veneer over his actual concern.  
  
Making a face at him, Hermione groused, “I’m not a dog, Draco.”  
  
“I know that, witch. Come on, let’s go.” He turned and started down the stair towards the garden gate.  
  
Hermione hesitated. “What if Romana calls for us?”  
  
“Father will find us. Besides, Snape can wait a little longer.”  
  
Lips tightening into a straight line, Hermione shook her head. “He shouldn’t have to.”  
  
Looking up at her from the path below, Draco broke into a smile. “Oh, come off it, Granger. You can’t honestly tell me you’re anxious to see that bastard again.” He waved her to join him. “Come along. He ignored you often enough, you know. Even if you don’t need this walk to get your head cleared, I certainly do.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione summoned her cloak from inside and settled it about her shoulders as she descended the steps. Draco was waiting for her, holding the gate open.  
  
The two friends strolled along in silence down the lane towards the school. Eventually, Draco started to hum. He had a pleasant, lilting tenor, and a habit of singing while he worked. After a few bars, Hermione recognized the tune as one of Bing Crosby’s, “Beautiful Dreamer.” She chuckled under her breath, imagining what Professor Snape would have to say about that one.  
  
Draco must have noticed her glance, winking cheekily back at her. He was such a tease.  
  
Deciding to return the favour, she asked, “Is he the King of your song, Draco?”  
  
That made Draco pull away in exaggerated horror. “Hardly.” A few steps later, he amended the idea, “If anything, he’s a Prince. Although where is his kingdom?”  
  
Mouth twitching up in a wry smile, Hermione teased, “Are you planning to kiss him awake?”  
  
“I’ll leave that to your magical lips, being the fully qualified healer. It should be your job.”  
  
“Draco!” Hermione sputtered, embarrassed. “He’d kill me!”  
  
Smirking in amusement, Draco regarded her with an intense look that made her even more uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Granger.”  
  
“You can’t be serious.”  
  
Shrugging, Draco acknowledged the point. “Well, not really. Magical kisses always were such a vulgar fantasy.”  
  
Feeling better in safer territory, Hermione agreed. “Quite right. An unnecessarily rude awakening, unless specifically agreed upon by both parties ahead of time.”  
  
“Magic doesn’t always care about such things. Rituals of old held great stock in such a gesture.”  
  
Affronted, Hermione growled. “Magic can kiss my muggle-born arse!”  
  
Draco craned his neck about as if to assess the specified part of her anatomy. “Well, the sun does shine-”  
  
“Finish that sentence and you’ll never produce an heir.”  
  
Holding his hands up in surrender, he laughed. “Loosen up, Granger.”  
  
Hermione stopped walking. “Honestly, Draco. I need you to promise to maintain professionalism. This is quite awkward for us. Imagine how much worse it will be for Professor Snape, disoriented and in pain. Any unguarded comments could be very distressing for him and I need him to trust us.”  
  
Voice steady, Draco looked directly into Hermione’s eyes and she could sense his sincerity. “I know that. Salazar’s sake, he’s my Godfather. The wizard who made an unbreakable vow, promising to protect me, help me, and to take up my unwanted burden on pain of death!”  
  
He turned away, perhaps to hide the strength of his emotion as he continued to speak, “I owe him everything. If he’d not been there, I’d be dead or rotting in Azkaban by now. I need this as much as you do, Granger.”  
  
“I know, Draco.” She was ashamed of her own doubt now.  
  
Draco reached up and squeezed her shoulder. “I need you to be at your best. You’re winding yourself up too tight. Shall I summon a Weasley to amuse you? Worse, Potty himself?”  
  
Horrified, Hermione shook her head and stepped away. “Don’t you dare, Malfoy!” How could she possibly explain this to her friends?  
  
Draco took a step back, a wicked smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Well, you leave me no choice.”  
  
Suspicion made Hermione pull up a shield just in time for a snowball to bounce off of what would have been her shoulder. “Hey!”  
  
“What?” He stood there, gloved hands pristine, wand out.  
  
Before she could tell him off, another snowball winged in and hit her shield from behind. “Why you sneaky...”  
  
Draco appeared to take a step to the side but now there were five of him. All of them were levitating snowballs. “En Garde, Granger!”  
  
This time she was prepared. Each snowball’s flight was reversed almost as soon as it was flung. Unfortunately, Draco was fast enough to dodge. Silently, she cast a tripping jinx on the Draco closest to her, and that one winked out of existence.  
  
Looking a bit nervous, the Dracos prepared another assault. He didn’t want to get covered in snow any more than she did.  
  
Hermione’s ears popped due to a change in air pressure and she cursed, instinctually flinging herself to the side, directly towards another Draco. There was a gratifying, heavy thump behind her as she skidded through what turned out to be a fake-Drake.  
  
The three Dracos turned their heads to look at her, mouths dropping open as she cast an Engorgio on the snow beneath the feet of two. Both dropped to the ground, but only one disappeared. “Oof!”  
  
Grabbing a handful of snow, she pounced on the real Draco. He tried to roll away, but that opened up access to his neck. She crowed with triumph as she managed to shove the snow down the wizard’s collar.  
  
“Eek!” Draco leapt up and did a delightful shimmying dance, trying to vent the cold substance away from his tender neck. “Merlin, Granger. You fight dirty!”  
  
Still down on her knees, Hermione panted with the expended effort, giggles escaping more and more as she tried to regain her composure.  
  
A new voice answered for her. “From my perspective, son, she performed very well.” The deeper, cultured drawl of Lucius Malfoy made both friends whirl in alarm.  
  
The younger Malfoy continued to twitch, making the most delightful squeaks as the melting snow slid down further, chilling the tender skin at the small of his back.  
  
The sight of her erstwhile enemy-now-ally squirming under the unsympathetic eye of his father made Hermione rip into a full-on belly laugh. She couldn’t help it, the whole thing was just ridiculous.  
  
“Merlin, Granger. It isn’t that funny.” Draco’s wounded pride bled through in his withering tone.  
  
A gloved hand swam into view, offering to help her up, and Hermione accepted it. The laughter continued to shudder in her gut. The shock of being hauled to her feet by what she belatedly realised was the older, taller Malfoy did much to sober her.  
  
His presence set off an alarm in her head. “Is it time?” Her voice was necessarily breathy.  
  
Lucius placed a steadying arm about her, concerned that she might stumble. Draco stepped over, overcoming his comical discomfort in twinned worry of Hermione’s own.  
  
“Dr Lundar sent an owl stating that she expects to have everything in order and wants to make the attempt after lunch.”  
  
Draco looked up at the sky, checking the position of the sun. “Great. I will have time for a bath, then.”  
  
“The house elves have hot cocoa and biscuits waiting for us in the parlour.” He let Hermione go, using his wand to cast warming and drying charms on his son.  
  
Hermione’s heart buoyed up at the gesture. The old memory of the nefarious Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, didn’t hold up to the wizard she’d gotten to know since they joined forces for Operation “Wake up the Prince.” Perhaps he’d changed.  
  
“Poddy?”  
  
An elf popped into view. “Yes, Mr Malfoy, sir?” He was wearing a uniform of pristine white, complete with tails and a rather dapper green satin bow tie which brought out the bilious green of his protuberant eyes.  
  
The Malfoys kept a few house elves on staff in addition to the human employees. She’d not seen more than glimpses of them, but Draco had assured her that they were compensated and bonded properly on their first day.  
  
“Would you please transport us back to the house? These two need to get warmed up before they catch their death.”  
  
“Right away, sir!”  
  
Bristling, Hermione opened her mouth to protest as the idea was rubbish. An old wives tale, the very idea that a bit of cold could have any sort of negative impact on a healthy witch or wizard was preposterous, and she rather thought the same of muggle physiology.  
  
She didn’t get the chance to argue her point as Poddy hopped into action, grabbing her cloak. The Malfoys were both quicker on the uptick and had both placed hands on the elf’s thin shoulders.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next few hours flew by, and Hermione withdrew into her own thoughts. The tense anxiety of the morning hadn’t fully returned. She’d never admit this aloud, but Draco’s plan (for she recognized it as such) was very effective. The hot cocoa and almond-orange biscuits warmed her up and the shower she took eased out the tension she’d built up.  
  
Back in her uniform, she took a light lunch with the others in the dining room. Romana returned from the Shack, bright-eyed and excited by the results of her morning’s work. She’d managed to isolate a small section of the floorboard and “knocked” it back to the present. That made Hermione feel somewhat better, but still, there was a world of difference between a dead piece of wood and a wizard. _Especially_ when that wizard was Professor Snape.  
  
Once the company ate their fill, the table was quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts.  
  
It was Lucius who broke the silence. “Dr Lundar, I have been struggling to put to words my gratitude for the time you have taken away from your life and studies to help my friend. Healer Granger’s fascination with your publicated work is justified, and should you ever wish to leave the public sector, be assured that our family would be pleased to consider investing in whatever proposal you have at hand.”  
  
“Absolutely.” Draco smiled warmly at the witch. Both generations of Malfoy were on board with the promise. Hermione knew that Draco was still single, still looking for that special witch to continue his family line. He’d asked her out on a date once when he was drunk. She’d turned him down. It was not that he was unattractive, for she wasn’t blind to his boyish charm and sculpted physique. Hermione just couldn’t see herself in any kind of permanent relationship with his family, but if she were fully honest with herself, she just knew somehow that they were not right for each other. Draco Malfoy was friend-zoned.  
  
Romana didn’t seem to be overly affected by the pair of wizards, taking the thanks and compliments in her stride. Perhaps Romana could be persuaded? Best leave that to Draco.  
  
“Of course, friends. This has been a fascinating opportunity, and I look forward to adding these new findings to my body of research. I learn a lot analyzing where things went wrong.” She rubbed her hands together, “I was thinking that I’d like to lie down for an hour or two if that would be agreeable, and then we can all head down to the Shack.” Her smile faltered as no one answered. “That is if you are all still ready? We could put things off until tomorrow.”  
  
Hermione felt everyone’s eyes turn towards her. She’d no doubt she was ready, _more than ready_ , to have this over with. “We are ready when you are, Romana. Let’s wake up the Prince.”  
  
  
Two hours later, they all apparated into the shack. It was _showtime_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the astute [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by my buddy [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and my boo [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> Also, I should probably apologise for reminding you all of that wonderful hit from 2012, Gagnam Style by Psy. Obviously not mine! And um, sorry?


	6. Chapter 5: But I Know Where To Start

Chapter 5: But I Know Where to Start

  
  
  
Romana collected the crystal from Hermione as they arrived at the shack. It was quite similar to the array of gems Hermione had examined days before, all held together by a special sort of amber. Romana explained that it was a sap she’d extracted from a particular tree. It was a natural dampener and helped focus the energy she used. She’d discovered that the insects in the tree’s amber were not trapped physically, instead they were slowed to a barely perceptible rate of time. Hermione was quite fascinated, but now this was getting quite real and she dare not allow herself to be distracted.  
  
Trying not to dwell upon the uncertain nature of the magical maneuver that the witch was about to perform, Hermione turned her attention to assuring she was ready. A gentle golden glow flooded the space, expanding to wrap around the irregular shape of the time-bubble that kept Snape suspended.   
  
Draco and Hermione moved to opposite sides of the marked out area of the anomaly, pulling on gloves and masks, while Lucius took up a position near Hermione, ready to help reorient the patient, or subdue him should the need arise.   
  
As she knelt down she reminded herself that this was just like any other trauma scene she’d presided over. Better, because she witnessed the mechanism of injury. There should not be any surprises. Hermione closed her eyes, bringing up the image from Lucius’ last view of Snape.   
  
Like an echo from the past, Lucius spoke. “Shite. This had better work.” He recited it as though he were reading from lines from a play. That is, with a lack of emotion or inflection, but Hermione knew there was nearly fifteen years worth of feeling behind it. It seemed very appropriate.   
  
“Father?” Draco’s confused face looked jaundiced in the reflected glow of the amber field of light.   
  
“Last thing I said to Severus, son. Good luck everyone.”   
  
Romana’s sweet laughter suggested that she’d understood the joke too. “I take it we’re ready?”   
  
Hermione focused her attention on the space in front of her, raising her free hand to shield her eyes.   
  
In the briefing over lunch, Romana explained to them that the smaller experiment had let off light, heat, and a pleasant tinkling sound akin to wind chimes. Hermione was accustomed to the simple shifting of a time turner passing only a few hours, accomplished with a seamless transition. This would be entirely different.   
  
“Right. On my mark. Three, two, one… contact!”   
  
Immediately a cacophony of blazing golden light, a burst of hot wind, and the sound of a thousand panes of glass shattering heralded the breaking of the spell.   
  
Spots floating before her eyes, Hermione reached forwards and felt the solidity of a wool-clad form before her. Cursing under her breath she found the ice cold metal of the defective device and pulled it up and over the patient’s head, not pausing to worry about it snagging in his hair. It hit the floor behind her with a thunk as the coppery smell of blood filled her nostrils.   
  
Draco was sticking to his part of the script and was divesting the teacher of his robes as Hermione cast the diagnostic and monitoring spells she needed to understand what was happening.   
  
So far it looked like everything was as they’d expected. “He’s lost consciousness. Still breathing, but I need to secure that airway.”   
  
The patient sucked in a disturbingly wet sounding breath as if he were in agreement.   
  
She held a small tube to Snape’s left nostril, noting that he’d broken his nose sufficiently to nearly collapse the right side entirely. “ _Querere carinum_.” The tube slithered in like a snake, and she could feel it hit the target as she held onto its tail. “ _Aperto_.” Opening outward, the next breath the Professor took was easier. That done, she affixed it with a nonverbal sticking charm.   
  
“Draco, any magical complications?”   
  
“Nothing amiss beyond what we’d anticipated. Some residual curse damage, but nothing active.”   
  
“Get access and start transfusing. Three units to start, please.” Hermione turned her attention to the neck wounds, tsking at the sluggish flow of blood from the edges of the gash. Syphoning away the clot, her eyes widened at the scope of the oozing. “Original dose of antivenom hasn’t taken yet.” She kept her voice steady as they ran into their first deviation from the ideal sequence of events.   
  
“First unit in.” Draco was an ideal second, communicating what she needed to know clearly.  
  
Hermione continued suctioning with  _Tergeo_ , keeping an eye on the magical monitoring spell that told her much about Snape’s condition. She’d spent time learning everything she could about mundane medical science and physiology. Magical healing was wonderful, but wizarding knowledge of how the body worked seemed to stimy around the time of Vesalius. “Chill core temperature.”   
  
Draco looked at her but he did as asked. “ _Corpus frigus_.”   
  
“ _Accio Nagini’s Antivenom_.” Hermione raised a hand and caught the phial with a satisfying slap. She popped the seal and cork out with a practised motion of her thumb, covered the end and started to drizzle the precious potion over the wound. Already with exposure to the cold, the oozing was slowing. “Lucius, can you syphon for me? Romana, would you brighten the light just here?”   
  
“Second unit is in. Blood volume is expanding, but Hermione, I think there’s...”  
  
“Hemothorax, I see it. Another two units after the third.”   
  
“Got it.” Draco was used to Hermione’s methods but they were unconventional by Magical Healing standards. She reasoned that blood replenisher was not fast enough and could put an undesirable drain on both her patient’s magic and body. A blood transfusion, done the muggle way, was arguably superior. She’d no idea of Snape’s blood type, so they’d managed to obtain a supply of O negative from unofficial channels. Sanguini had his uses.   
  
A shadow fell over her work, so she reached behind her and shoved. “Out of my light, Lucius.” The field brightened once more. “Get yourself a crate to sit on, and start packing his neck with the dittany as I showed you.”   
  
“Draco, I’ve got to fix that lung.” She would be distracted for the delicate magical healing; she needed to pass responsibility for monitoring over to her second.  
  
Draco met her gaze with a nod of acknowledgement. He had things under control. “Re-dose with antivenom ready in five, third unit running. Godspeed.”   
  
Swallowing, Hermione checked the monitoring spells one last time. Tilting her neck to the side, she heard a satisfying crack. Passing her wand over the base of Snape’s neck, she started the chant, “ _Sana sanguine. Sana sanguine. Sana sanguine_.”   
  
“Volume stabilizing. Cardiac output is increased.”  
  
“ _Evanesco_.” In the hands of the untrained, this could be a dangerous spell. Hermione used it with precision. The large amount of blood that had flooded her patient’s left lung vanished. She held a hand over his chest, the slow, strong beat reassuring her as she recast her diagnostic charm.   
  
“Third unit is in.”   
  
“Administering the Breath.” Hermione levitated a bell jar filled with the fine blue mist that Draco dubbed ‘Breath of Life.’ It was brilliant, an intersection of muggle medical knowledge and magical power. Cracking the seal, she was careful to keep the jar oriented downwards as she manipulated it over Snape’s face. Satisfied with the placement, she waited for the mist to enter with his next inhalation. It was a vigorous one; he’d taken half of the jar’s worth in one breath.   
  
Hermione was alarmed as the man’s eyes flutter open. He took another deep breath, consuming the rest of the dose. He coughed, starting to rouse.   
  
“Lucius, talk to him.” She’d noticed that the steam had stopped rising from the dittany soaked bandages and she pressed upon them firmly, watching the brown liquid seeping between her fingers. A last wisp of steam rose as Snape shuddered in response.  _Almost there, sir_.   
  
“Severus, you are going to be alright. I’ve brought you help. Try to relax.” Lucius shifted, leaning in closer so that he could make eye contact.   
  
Romana commanded the mage-light to shift, allowing Hermione to see in spite of the wizard hovering over her.  
  
Taking off the dressings from Snape’s neck, Hermione winced at the amount of blood he’d lost while her attention was focused elsewhere. Something wasn’t quite right. The ragged edges of the rip had stopped bleeding and were viable, but there was a straight laceration that went deep that continued to bleed. She paid particular attention to the section where Lucius clumsily tried to cauterize the jugular, the charred tissue already eaten away by the dittany.   
  
She muttered aloud, working quickly to determine what was missing. “It is almost like he was cut with a cursed knife, but I know that wasn’t the case.” Her mind reeled back to the moment Snape was attacked.   
  
“Fourth unit going in.” Snape’s skin was still pale, his fingers a dusky colour. It did not bode well.  
  
A bolt of inspiration struck and she swore aloud, “Son of a bitch!” Voldemort had hit Snape with a silent curse, one that wouldn’t respond to ordinary healing methods. She remembered how Snape grabbed at his own throat before the snake even struck! Voldemort used Snape’s own spell against him.  
  
Hermione willed herself to be calm as she performed the complex wand motion she’d learned from Draco years ago. “ _Vulnera sanentur…_ ” She could feel both Draco and Lucius’ eyes on her but she dared not explain, no time. “ _Vulnera sanentur_ …” Her left hand still rested over Snape’s chest and she thought she could feel him relax a fraction. It felt to her like a miracle as the shredded tissue finally began to knit itself back together. She watched in fascination, uttering the words one final time. “ _Vulnera sanentur_.”   
  
“Brilliant, Hermione!” Draco knew first hand what that felt like.   
  
Smiling in satisfaction, she murmured, “Nearly there.” Hermione reached into her hip pocket and drew out the packet of poultice that she’d had Draco prepare. The pungent, green aroma of herbs tickled her nose through her mask as she applied it to the open wound. By morning the whole thing would have closed over. By next week the marks of the ordeal would have disappeared almost completely.   
  
“... time froze rather than reversed. It was a good thing, Severus. You’ll see.”   
  
“Fourth unit in, starting the fifth unit.” She could feel her patient starting to shiver under her hand.  
  
“Let his temperature come up, Draco. And he is ready for a pain draught.” As he uttered the appropriate countercharm, she cast, “ _Ferula_!” White strips of cloth leapt to wind about Snape’s neck and she had to bat the patient’s hand away, maintaining her concentration as she willed the bandages to loosen a fraction. That done, she found her former Professor clutching at her hand with a surprising amount of strength. “Easy, Professor. Almost done.”   
  
“Can I cover him up now?” Draco’s query was petulant, a sign that he was starting to come down from the rush of adrenaline that kept him hyperfocused.   
  
Two spots of heat broke out on her cheeks as she took in for the first time the sight of the man she respected laid bare. “Oh, yes. Of course.”   
  
“Unless you’d like to keep admiring-”   
  
“Draco.” Lucius growled at his son as Snape, who’d looked up to review the scene, dropped his head back with what Hermione felt certain was a groan of embarrassment.   
  
Moved to protect the wizard’s dignity, she snapped, “Don’t be obscene. In a setting such as this? It would be unsupportable. You know perfectly well I’d never look at a patient that way.” She chanced a glance at Professor Snape who had shut his eyes. Another wave of fury with Draco’s poorly timed jest washed over her. “There is nothing repulsive about him, I just wouldn’t let a patient tempt me and you know it.” She’d warned him about this, damn his timing!   
  
Snape squeezed her arm, cutting off the tide of vitriol that was building up in favour of refocusing her attention where it truly belonged. Good Godric, Snape was alert, wasn’t he? She’d have to make Draco pay later. It had been over 20 years since she last socked him in the jaw. Maybe this time it would stick.  
  
“Right. I think it is time to free up your airway. After that, a few more potions and we can get you into a warm bed and resting at last.” Part of her hoped he’d be too weak to say anything once the tube was out, she was at a loss for words herself. Snape’s cold fingers squeezed momentarily before letting her hand go.   
  
Lucius stepped back, taking up a position behind Hermione again. “How are we going to get him back to the cottage?” The question provided a distraction, something objective to consider. A solvable problem. She sprung on it like a starving hound would a scrap of meat.   
  
“Once this last unit of blood is in him, I expect he’ll be able to stand long enough to Apparate. Unless you’d be willing to engage the house elves?” She loathed to make the request, but it would be easier for Professor Snape and his recovery was her primary concern.   
  
“Of course.”   
  
“The last unit is in. I think that should do it, what do you think, Healer Granger?” The way he’d spat out her name told her he was cross with her, but she didn’t mind him. He’d been uncouth, and while she was certain it was due to nerves, she didn’t appreciate it at all.   
  
Taking her time, she recast the diagnostic spells, looking at all of the parameters. By the time she was finished, if she’d have been asked if Snape had his tonsils out at age 5 or 11, she’d have been able to answer. If she took a moment to consider it, she probably could have recited the number of scars that peppered his back (a disturbing number), the number of broken bones he’d endured (yet another that would be the stuff of nightmares if she looked at it too closely), and even the number of hairs he had grown out of his right axilla. In short, she was as painfully thorough as could be. “Right, I think that the blood replenisher will work just fine if you can get him to take in some liver, or perhaps Marmite if liver won’t do.”   
  
The Professor jerked in response as Draco pulled out the femoral trochar he’d used to push the transfusions through, and he picked up his head once more. This time he was glaring straight at her. She held up her gloved hands as if to say she was innocent. In this case, she was.   
  
Again Snape opened his mouth but found he could not speak. The effort made him gag, and given all of the work she’d just done on both lungs and neck, it was quite alarming.   
  
“No! Head back. Oh, bother. Contain yourself, Professor. Just a moment more.”  
  
“What are you waiting for, Granger?”   
  
Granger was it, now? She was going to thump Draco. Or maybe she could whack him back to the dark ages if she could get Romana to teach her how to use that amazing setup. Grumbling internally, Hermione shuffled up to the head of the bed. “Are you alright sir? I could place a sleeping charm on you for this.”   
  
Professor Snape opened one eye and although he couldn’t speak, his scowl was eloquence itself. He lifted his right hand and made a circular motion that told her to get on with it.   
  
“Right, sir. On the count of three, I want you to exhale.” Swallowing her misgivings she grasped the magical airway and focused a silent ‘ _Finite_ ’ on it. “One, two…”   
  
Snape took in a ragged breath.   
  
Feeling the airway shrink in her hand and come loose she looked at Snape and said, “Three!” He exhaled as she deftly tugged the wriggling tube out, and with it came a quantity of brownish blood-streaked mucus. The whole lot vanished with a thought.   
  
Her patient hacked and gagged, turning his head to vomit on the floor of the shack, missing her knee by a few inches. That was vanished too, as Hermione kept a tight ship.   
  
Draco helped Snape sit up. He was still pale, but nothing like he was when they’d started and his fingers were no longer that dangerous cyanotic purple. His breathing was easy for the first time.   
  
Hermione finished looking him over and found herself gazing directly into Professor Snape’s eyes. He always seemed to see right through her, but she tried on a brave smile for the man. “Welcome back, sir.”   
  
Brow furrowing, Snape hesitated, mouth opening for a moment before he closed it. Instead of speaking, he lowered his eyelids in what Hermione fancied was a replacement for a nod of acknowledgement. She’d seen the same expression on Crookshanks when he was particularly pleased with her for sharing a bit of herring or a particularly lovely chin rub.   
  
Poddy popped in and on Draco’s direction, the elf reached out to grasp all three wizards in an ambitious show of his magical strength.  
  
Before she could blink, all three wizards were gone, leaving Hermione to collapse on the floor of the shack in a moment of self-indulgent wallow. Sometimes this happened to her. She’d pull some poor fool out of the clutches of death and afterwards her spirits would sink through the floor in spite of her success.   
  
She vanished her mask and her mind cast forwards, predicting what would come next. Now that they’d done it, she’d need to assure that Professor Snape would have as little trouble from his injuries as was magically possible. After that, well. It was up to him.   
  
There was a chance that he’d choose to disappear, never to be seen again. She’d never be able to talk about what she’d just been a party to, and it rankled her more than she’d expected. It wasn’t that she wanted praise or a reward. She just needed to talk about what she’d done, the enormity of the moment. While she might have turned to Draco in the past, something held her back.  
  
Now that she’d given the Malfoys what they wanted, she wondered if their relationship was going to change. Draco’s strange mood swing bothered her more than she was willing to admit.   
  
A gentle, unexpected touch jarred her out of those oppressive thoughts. Romana was checking her forehead as though she thought she might have caught dragon pox. Her friend need not worry about a fever, for Hermione was cold. Cold and tired. “Hermione? Are you alright?”   
  
Stifling a groan, Hermione shoved aside an impulse to head back to the familiar territory of St Mungo’s. There was always someone to talk to on the ward. If Snape had been a patient there, it would be perfectly legal. Part of her worried that he should have been taken to a hospital, in spite of legitimate concerns for his privacy.   
  
Now, she had the unenviable task of monitoring a surly wizard around the clock without her usual support staff. Just a pair of anxious family members standing in, that is if Snape considered the Malfoys family. Draco knew what he was doing and could probably be trusted to detect problems, but he was also an utter prat. Hermione tried to explain to her waiting friend why she was laying on the floor. “Just taking a minute.”   
  
Romana seemed to understand instantly. “That was intense.” She also had a talent for understatement.   
  
Hermione was emptied out of the nervous energy she’d allowed to build up within her since the night of Yule Ball. “I think I’ll need to sleep for a week.” The soft chuckle beside her brought a smile to Hermione’s face.   
  
“I’d help you up, but... well. I don’t know where to put a hand.” The well meaning witch was wrinkling her nose in distaste.   
  
Hermione became aware of the gore that beaded her resistant clothes. She peeled off the gloves, vanishing the lot before turning her wand on herself, a  _Tergeo_  syphoning away the worst of it. “I’ll be fine if you want to go on ahead.” She levered herself up into a sitting position and rested for a moment, eyes taking in the shack.   
  
Romana’s equipment was already packed up, and she took Hermione at her word, leaving her there with a wave and a twist of Apparition.  
  
Mentally reeling still, she brushed herself off and stood up, feeling relieved that her body was not as worn out as her mind. Hermione set a sterilization charm on the whole area, banishing all traces of the miracle that’d happened in the Shack. It was time to go.  
  
Duty urging her onwards, Hermione Apparated away. As she trudged up the slushy lane towards the cottage, she shoved back an unworthy feeling that she’d become as vestigial as the human tailbone. In an oversimplified view, she was. Draco was fully capable of administering the potions they’d discussed, while Lucius was seeing to Snape’s comfort and reorientation to the decade.   
  
This was her case and she wasn’t about to back off now that the magic was over.   
  
She’d need to re-examine Snape and change his neck dressing later that evening. There was just enough time to get her head back on straight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by the droll [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the dreamy [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by my excellent [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and the elegant [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> 


	7. Chapter 6: When It's All Over

  
  


  
  


Chapter 6: When It’s All Over

  
  


Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself to join the household for dinner. She’d decided to don the Healer’s traditional formal robes as a statement. She and the Malfoys had come together in a unified cause, and the moment it was clear that they’d succeeded the delicate thread holding the team together began to unravel. 

 

In her mind, it was entirely logical that she retreat back into the role that she’d agreed to serve. She was Professor Snape’s Healer. She deserved the respect that the role called for, and would observe the boundaries delineated by the strict ethical code she’d sworn to uphold. 

 

It wasn’t only the Malfoys whom she was uncertain of, but the patient himself. She worried that he wouldn’t trust her, and old insecurities were rearing their ugly heads. Professor Snape was the one teacher she’d never been able to please besides Umbridge, although she had no use for that woman’s good regard. Hard as she studied and practiced, she was never good enough for him. Knowing the correct answers wasn’t sufficient. Potions executed perfectly  _ never  _ elicited praise. She hoped that she’d grown beyond this, but apparently not. 

 

As she stood by the doorway to the dining room, Hermione felt not at all like a brave Princess of Gryffindor, a moniker that was thrown in her face often enough. She was a witch who now found herself alone in a house full of Slytherin Snakes. Was it any wonder she’d wanted to wear armor? She chided herself for being overly dramatic. Dr Lundar was still in attendance, that counted for something. 

 

Clearing her head of these cobwebs of anxiety as best she could, she pasted on a polite smile and stepped into the room.  
  


 

* * *

Severus eyed the array of rich foods laid out on the table with dismay. His throat was quite sore and he’d been suffering from ulcers for the better part of the past few months. That is, spring of 1998, but from his perspective 1998 was yesterday. His duties as Headmaster and outwardly loyal Death Eater had been in direct opposition to each other as well as his mission to make sure Harry succeeded in his task. Add to that the isolation and the loss of support of anyone he could fully trust, and it was no wonder that he’d nearly ripped himself apart under the combined strain. Before the snake attacked him, he’d thought he was quite ready to lay down and accept death as a welcome respite from the hell of his existence.

 

As his heart’s blood flowed out of him in the Shack, he discovered that he wanted to live. Lucius appeared at the ninth hour, but the snake’s venom was deeply entrenched in spite of Snape’s preparations. The Time-Turner was a desperate, impulsive move. Severus was only beginning to understand the consequences, for his mind wasn’t the same. He could blame the draughts that Draco concocted, yet the difference in him was rooted deeper, more profound than intoxication. Perhaps the relief from his burdens after so long had finally made him crack. 

 

Simple things, like the softness of his new robes, or the exact blue of the clear winter sky fascinated and delighted him. Everything was an amazement, new. 

 

He was a cauldron, bubbling over with an excess of feeling, at risk of breaking down into either tears or all out laughter at the slightest provocation. He controlled the impulses as best he could, concerned that it was a sign of madness overtaking him. Occlumency couldn’t help him here, for it wasn't able to protect him from his own mind. More particularly he was certain that such a display of emotion would have been exceedingly painful. Too much might well reverse the work that the Healer put in just a few hours ago.

 

Draco chatted at him unrelentingly, like a magpie, telling him about his own successes and the fates of classmates whom he kept in touch with after the war. Lucius, ever observant, was the first to notice when the Healer entered the room, fashionably late. All heads turned towards her, like flowers to the sun. She was lovely. 

 

“Ah, Healer Granger. I’m glad you could join us.” Lucius stood, pulling out her chair. 

 

Heart still, Severus let out what he hoped was a barely audible gasp of surprise. Trying to square the masked witch who’d saved his life with the vision of a grown up Hermione Granger, Severus quashed the quiver of laughter that threatened to break his composure. Of course it was Granger, and it made a sort of morbid sense. She was probably about the last witch he wanted to deal with right now. Severus pulled his eyes away, lest he be caught staring.

 

“Thank you, Mr Malfoy.” Severus could feel the pressure of her regard in the awkward silence that followed. Perhaps perceiving his disconcerted state, Granger shifted her focus of attention to the array of delicacies set out on the table. It was her reference to himself and his invalid state that roused him from his dazed shock. 

 

“What a delightful meal, but is there nothing suitable for Professor Snape in the kitchens? Draco, I’d be happy to advise the chef about a menu that will better suit your guest’s needs?” A lovely pair of soft brown eyes met his own, and he froze like a bloody deer in headlights. Internally, he chided himself. She wasn’t a hazard, she was a Healer.

 

Sitting back in his chair, Draco raised his brow at the gentle scolding. Perhaps he objected to her use of his first name. More likely, both for his tone was petulant. “Well, I thought we were muddling along well enough.” He hesitated, looking over at the Professor’s plate, noticing the obvious evidence to the contrary. A smaller slice of tender venison sat with a single bite missing, and the crispy fried potatoes were left untouched. 

 

“Poppycock. Sampson?” She turned, summoning a butler When he appeared at her elbow, she spoke in hushed tones, stopping to ask, “Professor, would you prefer sweet or savoury tonight?” 

 

Hoarse and ego sore, Severus pushed out a terse answer. “Either.” He didn’t like this one bit and from her grimace, she heard him loud and clear. It was gratifying how much meaning could be packed into a single word.

 

She turned back to Sampson and finalized the order for him, as though he were a child or an invalid. There was truth to that, making the gesture sting. A Slytherin would have allowed him his dignity with a plan for a private feast later. 

 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table once more  as the Healer helped herself to a modest plate. She took no alcohol, and favored a seafood chowder with a few bits of bread, quite simple compared to the cheese soufflé and thick cut of venison that were loaded on Draco’s plate.   

 

Dr Lundar, or Romana as she bid him call her, was not so restrained, heaping her plate with pheasant and all of the trimmings. Watching her eat with evident gusto made Severus’ mouth water. Perhaps he could try to swallow a bit of meat once more?

 

“Dr Lundar, when do you think you will be able to tell us where Professor Snape’s Time-Turner went wrong?” Granger was making an effort at small talk. She  _ would _ consider experimental time artifice a light subject, suitable for dinner conversation.

 

“Given it didn’t do what was expected, it is malfunctioning, of that I have little doubt.  However it is broken in a fascinating fashion, and I think it might help disprove an entire theory which we have used as an assumption in my field. Thank you, you reminded me of something I needed to ask.” The intense witch focused on Severus. “Might I have leave to test your device?” 

 

Severus had no intention of using it ever again, as tempting as it might be. From what his potions-fuzzed brain could gather, the thing essentially left him marooned. What was worse, once it was activated it wasn’t possible to deactivate the device from the inside. He could have suffered a fate worse than death: a prison outside of time for all eternity. “Certainly.” His voice was raspy and unnaturally quiet.

 

She rewarded him with a wide smile. “Capital! I think I shall spend a few more days here, if that is agreeable? I expected to head back to Geneva in a week but I would extend the time for the project.”

 

Lucius inclined his head. “You will always be welcome here. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Without you, we’d never have succeeded.” 

 

Romana directed her attention back to Lucius. “Thank you for your generous hospitality, sir.” 

 

Feeling moved to express his gratitude, Severus ventured a smile. It felt very strange. “Thank you, Doctor Lundar.”  

 

Healer Granger was looking at him, her expression strained. Thankfully she held her tongue. Ah yes, she’d never quite lost that need to boss people about. Had she gained a modicum of self control?

 

Romana raised a fork in salute. “Think no more on it, sir. It was my honour.” 

 

Her open, friendly manner allowed her sincerity to shine through. Smiles and kind treatment were strangely alien to Severus. He imagined this was what Alice felt like when she fell down that rabbit hole.  

 

“I shall send you a copy of the manuscript.” Romana returned her attention to her pheasant after making that pronouncement. 

 

As an academic himself, Severus understood the gravity of such a gesture. One only shared unpublished work with trusted colleagues and advisors. 

 

A shadow alerted him to the approach of a servant who placed a plate of food before him, all chopped fine or pureed and arrayed in neat little individual bowls. Mashed potatoes with cream, crab imperial, mushy peas, and a quantity of poached pear. To the glass of cold water, another second was added, completely devoid of ice, and a pot of herbal tea was provided as well. 

 

“Would sir prefer Raspberry Fool or the Chocolate Mousse for pudding?” 

 

Severus held up two fingers, avoiding speaking. 

 

“The Mousse, sir?” 

 

Since it worked well, Severus made the Universal sign for okay with his thumb and forefinger. 

 

“Very good, sir.” 

 

Granger and Dr Lundar chatted amiably as Severus sampled the offerings on his plate. The crab was good, the potatoes passable, and the peas were a disaster. They seemed to have been stewed from fresh and retained too much greeness to their flavour. The pears he avoided entirely. 

 

Draco leaned near to whisper, “Regretfully, I can’t slip you any firewhiskey with Granger watching. She knows all of my tricks.” 

 

Snape raised his eyebrows in disbelief, risking a glance over at the witch in question.  “How?” They must be very close for Draco to have run out of misdirections and deception. That, or he’d gone soft.

 

Misinterpreting the question, Draco chuckled. “We trained together for a while. I was placed on probation after the war, and it made sense to continue my education. At the time I’d no idea of how much of our family’s diminished holdings would be allowed to remain intact. When mother decided to sue father for divorce, I took up a position as an Apprentice at St Mungo’s. Granger started at the same time.” 

 

“Draco’s made quite a reputation for himself, Professor. He’s invented a whole new class of potions, ones taken as vapors instead of the usual oral ingestion.” True admiration and respect warmed Granger’s words of praise. “You probably would be in a hospital without the Breath of Life, a neosurfactant vapor we used to avoid re-expansion damage to your lung parenchyma.” 

 

Were these two more than colleagues? Severus watched the interplay, but didn’t find any particular regard between them. 

 

“Oh, stop, Granger. You’re making me blush.” Draco was farthest from flattered. He knew his godson, and he was cross with Granger for some reason.

 

Rolling her eyes, Granger shot back, “Apologies for my rudeness. Shall I hold any further complements until you present yourself in robes that better favour a healthy glow? Baby blue, perhaps. I didn’t realise current fashions demanded an extremely serious demeanor. My mistake.” 

 

Hermione’s own cheeks were darkening in irritation. Severus wondered fleetingly if Granger was flirting, but that scowl completed the picture. Definitely angry. 

 

“Apology accepted. See that you do.” Draco dusted off the shoulder of his robe with an air of general disdain that looked entirely in place. 

 

Huffing, Granger fell into silence. 

 

Lucius leaned in and whispered, “I know it is hard to believe, but they’re friends. She has been a blessing for us. I’ll explain more later.” 

 

Looking for a more comfortable subject, Severus rasped out, “School?” Hogwarts was not far from his thoughts. 

 

“McGonagall retains the position of Headmistress and shows little sign of slowing down. Mr Filch stayed on as caretaker, but Hagrid left and works for the Ministry. Professor Sprout retired and Neville Longbottom took up her place these five years past. Filius Flitwick is the deputy but is looking for an assistant.” 

 

Draco got into the discussion, “McGonagall tried to lure me out of St Mungo’s to take Slughorn’s place but I wouldn’t hear of it. Me? Teaching potions? Maybe in a few decades I’ll be tired of the bachelor’s life, but not yet. She contracted a witch from Beauxbatons, but I doubt she will last for very long.” 

 

Laughing, Lucius nodded. “She is very… how shall I put this? French. Demanded a room with a view of the lake, so the Headmistress gave her one of the underground suites that look directly into its depths.” That got the others laughing, chatting over rumours. 

 

Severus wondered if the maligned Potions Mistress’ new quarters were his own old rooms. That was rather vicious of McGonagall, if it were true. They were cold, damp, and by necessity one had to use steeply cut stairways to climb out of them. He’d gotten used to them and never did feel comfortable up in the Headmaster’s tower.  

 

Reality hit him with the same force as a punch to his gut. The spoon slipped out of his nerveless fingers, landing beside his plate with a clatter.  

 

Severus couldn’t go back there. For nearly twenty years, the castle had been his safe place, his home. Someone else had taken his place. 

 

Granger leapt to her feet and was at his side in a heartbeat, wand out and casting what Severus vaguely recognized as diagnostics. “Draco, Mr Malfoy, I’m afraid Professor Snape needs to retire. I’m impressed that he’s had the strength to make it this long, sitting upright. He was almost killed a few hours ago.”   

 

Severus pushed away Granger’s solicitous hands. He needed to know. Weak, he sought out Lucius, croaking, “Home?” 

 

Lucius was matter of fact, providing the practicalities, as though they might lessen the impact of the news. “Spinner’s End is gone. It was demolished when the township decided to redevelop the area. I’ve invested the funds and they will be returned to you when you are ready. Really, Severus. You do look very ill. I think Healer Granger has the right of it. We should get you back to your rooms.” 

 

Stunned, Severus let his head fall back to lean against the chair. Gone were the trappings of his old life, liquidated into what must amount to only a handful of galleons.

 

A house elf in formal white tails tugged at his sleeve. “May I assist you to your room, sir?” 

 

Nearby, Draco and Granger got into what was most likely a tiff over what was best for him. It was all too much. Eyes slipping closed, he managed to nod to the elf. He was overwhelmingly tired, and the quiet that heralded his removal from the dining room was welcome.   
  


 

* * *

 

Hermione pulled on her coat over her formal robes, fuming. She just knew that this would happen. Draco Malfoy, for all of his supposed growth and maturity was still a prat who knew exactly how to get on her last nerve. She needed to leave the house, to get some space so that she didn’t do anything that she’d regret.

 

“Healer Granger, where are you going?” Lucius Malfoy had followed after her and was leaning against the doorway in a would-be casual pose. She could see he didn’t have his walking stick with him and he held himself stiffly. 

 

As Hermione pulled a colorful scarf about her hair, she recalled her duty to her patient. She couldn’t just stomp down to the Three Broomsticks and drink herself through her fit. “I am going for a walk about town, perhaps find a quiet spot.” Steeling herself, she continued, “You need not worry, I shall be back before you know it. I’m not going back to London yet.” 

 

Pushing off from the doorway, he shifted his weight to distribute more evenly between both legs.  Lucius asked, quite affably, “Would you like an escort?” 

 

Touched, Hermione shook her head with a sad smile. “You are consideration itself, Mr Malfoy, but I prefer to be left to my own thoughts as I am afraid I am not much company at the moment.” 

 

“I understand. Have a pleasant evening.” Lucius bowed, and on him it looked right and respectful, rather than the mocking sort his son sometimes favoured her with. 

 

Falling back on old manners, she curtsied before stepping out into the open air. How could the father have lovely manners whilst the son is a complete boor? She grimaced with wry satisfaction as she strode out in to the cold Scottish twilight. Breeding isn’t everything.  
  


 

* * *

 

Luna sat at the bar in the Three Broomsticks, idly swirling a glass stirring rod through her gillywater, listening to the chime of the crystal as it struck at random intervals. It was early in the evening and a weekday, so the taproom was only beginning to fill. She’d no plans beyond seeing where the evening took her. 

 

Both of her boys were tucked away safely at Hogwarts. Her late husband laid cold in the ground these past two years, his memory a fading comfort. Father was away on a trip to feed his latest obsession: dream magic. 

 

Her work with her husband set her up well enough. She’d rented a flat above Scrivenshaft’s, but it was entirely too large and empty. 

 

Behind her, the door to the Inn banged open with too much force, causing a ripple of disgruntled alarm in the other patrons. Turning, Luna was delighted to see her old schoolmate, Hermione Granger, stomping over to place an order for strong tea with Madam Rosmerta. 

 

“Hermione? What a pleasant surprise!” Luna slipped off of the bar stool to intercept her astonished friend with a hug. 

 

A pleased squeal escaped the curly haired witch, “Luna! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She hugged her a second time before pulling back to ask, “How are you?” 

 

Luna let go and waved a hand about, feeling something brush too close. “Shoo!” She leaned to the side, to avoid the flying pests that only she seemed to be able to see.

 

  


 

“Nargles?” 

 

“Wrackspurts. A most impressive collection. You’ve attracted a varietal that I haven’t seen in over fifteen years, I’d thought it extinct. I do hope he hasn’t been following you this whole time.” They looked to her like a blackfly with a prosthetic nose stuck on its snout, too large and out of place. Very odd.

 

Laughing, Hermione gave Luna another squeeze before they sat down together at the bar. “Perhaps.” 

 

The pair of witches passed a happy two hours catching up before Hermione had to head back to the cottage. They agreed to meet up the following day.   
  


 

* * *

Severus slept through breakfast, waking to a room washed in the sterile light of a Scottish winter day. The room he occupied was decorated with austere taste. The walls, curtains, and bed linens were all snow white. The furnishings were dark wood and the proportions generous. Severus felt very out of place, a black smudge amongst the white. Only yesterday he’d awoken on a spring morning in the Headmaster’s bed. 

 

Now what? He sat up, pulling a robe about him. So far so good. Slippers were there for him, and he slid into them before testing his legs. He was surprised at how good he felt. Gone was the leaden fatigue of last night. 

 

He didn’t remember anything of his dreams, and he’d woken only briefly for Granger to change his bandages, dose him with a few potions, and perform a quick diagnostic. She was quick, considerate, and thorough. Most importantly, she didn’t demand conversation. 

 

On the way to the bathroom, Severus took a look out the window and was treated to the sight of snow covering over the grounds as a painter might prepare a canvas. A few flakes were still falling from the overcast sky. 

 

When he emerged from the bathroom he found a set of fresh clothes laid out for him. Whoever was providing for him thought far enough ahead to provide a loose knit shirt without a collar and a soft woolen jumper to go over it. All his clothes were black. 

 

By the window a small table waited, bearing a tea tray with toast and two phials of potions. One contained a milky white liquid, which he recognised as antivenom by its scent. Before he checked over the second, he noticed a crisp folded paper addressed to him. 

 

_ Severus,  _

 

_ Poddy tells me you are awake. The green phial is the antivenom, and the brown is a fortifying draft. Granger reports that you are shockingly undernourished for a man who had an entire castle and an army of House Elves at his disposal.  _

 

_ Don’t mind her. You recall that none of us looked our best; she’s certainly not one to talk about nutrition. She survived on foraged mushrooms, poached rabbits, and tins of bolognese.  _

 

_ She needs to see you, by the way. Something about another dressing change.  _

 

_ Once you’re feeling up to it, please join father and I in the office. Poddy will direct you. We need to talk, and we shouldn’t put it off much longer. _

 

__ ~Draco. _ _

 

  
  


The Daily Prophet was included on the tray, and a cursory examination told him that today was January 28th 2013, that some wizard named Brimblecombe was the Minister of Magic and was very taken up with talks over plans to form a more formal coalition Government with the Magical European Nation. That and a pithy commentary about the Dutch Queen abdicating in favour of her son, in comparison to Queen Elizabeth II’s steadfast leadership. “Good lord, she’s still around?” His voice was stronger than yesterday.

 

A soft knock startled him. Turning to look at the door was a mistake, and he hissed through clenched teeth. “Dammit!” When the stars spotting his vision started to disappear, he unshipped his wand and opened the door with magic. He managed to growl, “Enter.” 

 

Healer Granger, wearing those traditional acid green robes stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. “Good morning, Professor Snape. How was your night?” She held herself stiffly. 

 

Severus eyed the leather bag she held clutched in one hand as she walked closer. “Restful.” 

 

Clever brown eyes took in the state of his bed, the empty phials, and the barely touched food at his elbow. “And how are you feeling, sir?” 

 

He was at a loss to put what he was feeling into words. Just yesterday he’d been ripped open by Voldemort’s snake familiar, left for dead, patched up badly by a friend, thrown in an accidental  time-freeze, and then thawed out to find the former trappings of his life wiped from the face of the earth. What sort of question was that, anyway?  _ Open-ended Healer question, _ of course. “Unexpectedly alive, unsurprisingly sore.” There, Granger. Chew on that.

 

She pulled out a chair and took a seat. He supposed that this was better than having to look up at her. Nodding to the untouched toast and fruit she asked, “Sour stomach, or just not hungry?” 

 

“Slow to get started.” 

 

“Ah, I see. Right-o. I’d like to change your bandage but to do that, I think it would help to give you a dose of pain reliever beforehand.” She gestured to the toast. “And that would sit better on your stomach if you had something in it besides antivenom and Draco’s fortifier.” 

 

Resheathing his wand, Severus picked up a piece of toast and added a quantity of what looked like berry jam before taking a bite. Belatedly he gestured to the tea pot. “Would you like a cup, Healer?” 

 

“Thank you, no. I’ve already eaten. I’ll do a bit of paperwork while I wait, if you don’t mind?” She was already opening her bag and rummaging therein, coming up with a scroll that she unwound to the point she last used. Not self-conscious in the least, she uncapped a muggle pen and started to record whatever it was that Healers felt the need to scratch down.  

 

Over his tea, his practised eye estimated that she’d already used three feet of parchment. “Some things haven’t changed, I see.” 

 

Granger’s hand stilled for a moment in her writing and she leveled a bland stare at him before turning back to her work, without comment.  She probably wasn’t here for pleasure, but her reserved manner flummoxed him. He’d expected her to go over every detail of what happened and how she’d accomplished it last night over dinner, but instead she’d remained silent in favour of praising Dr Lundar and Draco. 

 

Why was she here, really? Madam Pomfrey most likely was retired. Did she work up at Hogwarts now? She trained with Draco, so she must be settled in her practice. Who else knew he was here? He had no desire to see Potter at the moment. Now that he looked, she did not wear a wedding band. Neither did Draco or Lucius. Chewing, he found his eyes straying to the words she was putting to parchment. 

 

“This chart is yours, sir. As your Healer, it is my duty to protect your privacy. I have not spoken to anyone outside of those at the dinner table of your medical or magical condition, and I am obliged to maintain your confidence after we are done here.” She spoke with precision her eyes meeting his, as though some deeper message might be there hidden under the surface. 

 

At his nod, she turned back to her work. 

 

He digested her words, considering the context. Work, obligation. Duty. Was he a project for her, then? Like her doomed attempt to free the House Elves? There was no outward passion in the Gryffindor witch, and its absence was glaringly obvious. Perhaps she didn’t want to help but was doing so out of an overdeveloped sense of obligation. That would fit the profile. 

 

What was he to her, after all? Sternest and most demanding of teachers. The wizard who’d killed Albus Dumbledore in front of her best friend, and later was revealed to be working for the Greater Good all along. A double agent who was buried so deep in Voldemort’s confidence that he’d known the man better than anyone else alive, except perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange. Good lord, he hoped she’d been dealt with. 

 

He’d seen and done terrible things. He wasn’t really a good man, no matter what Dumbledore said to the contrary. He must be repulsive to her. 

 

Mood dipping lower, he found his appetite had left him. “Are you ready, Healer Granger?” 

 

She held up a single finger as she completed her sentence. Capping the pen, she rolled the parchment and stowed it away before returning her attention to him. “Of course, first something for the pain.” She took out a blue bottle and after appropriating a spoon she meted out three drops of the black liquid and handed it over. 

 

Severus accepted the spoon and took a sniff. “Essence of poppy, cherry, and chamomile?” Nothing particularly magical at first glance. 

 

“Yes. Draco can tell you more, he made it for you himself.” Why did she keep bringing him up?

 

“I’d like to see my wound, if that isn’t too much trouble.” It wasn’t a matter of trust; rather he felt compelled to look. 

 

She didn’t appear surprised by the request. “We can do the dressing change in front of a mirror. The bathroom would make sense. I can summon an attendant if it would make you more comfortable.” 

 

He swallowed the pain potion, admiring how it burned like whiskey but the ensuing absence of pain was quite a lot faster than alcohol afforded. “I don’t suppose I could keep the bottle?” 

 

“Not possible, sir. You understand it could be addictive if taken incorrectly?” She was frowning at him, no doubt wondering if he had an addictive personality. Still a judgmental chit, aren’t we? 

 

Biting down on his urge to give her a tongue lashing for old time’s sake, Severus nodded and in so doing marveled at the wonderful lack of pain. “Right. To the bathroom!” Not seeing a reason to wait, he stood up, taking a moment to assure that his balance was steady. Gathering his tattered dignity about him like a shield, he crossed the room, not checking to see if she followed. 

  
  


* * *

 

Hermione followed the Professor. She’d been observing him and the clear light of morning revealed a disturbing truth. He was a lot younger than she’d remembered, a reality that she hadn’t allowed herself to consider before now. Objectively, she had an idea of his age, recalling that he was in the same year as Harry’s mum’s at Hogwarts. Dressed in black, he was himself in the essentials, yet the clothes hung loosely, a reminder of how thin he’d become. 

 

When he needled her about her lengthy report, she wasn’t intimidated. Not one jot. It was amusing, but as she noticed that his attention remained fixed on her, she was struck by the variety of things he’d want to know. Being a reserved, proud sort of man, he wouldn’t likely feel comfortable asking any questions so it was up to her to read into the silences. 

 

She should expect him to be just like every other patient who’d come under her care, but the history between them brought his present vulnerability into stark relief against the implacable wizard she’d once known. They needed to come to an understanding before she dosed him with the pain draft. 

 

Professor Snape - for all of his nasty demeanor and demanding standards and in spite of his service as a spy, having endured much more than any single person ought - was human. Few ever saw him as such, she thought. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey, or Professor McGonagall. People who’d known him most of his life. Hermione had always admired him, defended him until he’d killed Dumbledore. 

 

As he asked to see the wound, she was put to mind Draco’s comment yesterday. That’s why she offered to summon a chaperone. Why had Draco forced that idea into her head? She wouldn’t oggle a patient.

 

“Have a seat, please.” She’d levitated a chair along with them and after eying the level of the mirror, she lengthened the chair’s legs by a few inches. Not wanting to soil his clothes, she pulled the neck of the jumper and shirt out of the way and was about to use a sticking charm to hold them in place when he pulled back and solved the problem by removing his shirt and jumper all in one go. Right, pain potion was disinhibiting Snape. Noted. He didn’t seem to care about her seeing his scars, body, or even his dark mark. 

 

Wand still out, she cast a warming charm before floating a magelight closer. The next problem was his hair. “Do you mind if I bind your hair back for a short while, sir?” 

 

“If you feel it necessary.” 

 

She conjured a hair elastic and dragged her fingers through the fine ebony tresses, gathering the lot at the nape of Snape’s neck. If only she could tell Luna, she was sure she’d be interested to know that the so called greasy hair was in fact silk-soft. That accomplished, she vanished the dressing in one go. 

 

The wound underneath was obscured by the greenish poultice she’d packed it with last night. “ _ Tergeo. _ ” Gently and with extreme care, Hermione cleared the wound. The poultice smelled of cut grass and stained like it too. Wanting a better view, she rolled up her sleeves, prepared a bowl of lukewarm water with a slice of mild soap and gave the wound a good once-over. 

 

Many people couldn’t handle the sight of wounds, especially on themselves. She need not have worried with Professor Snape. He leaned in once she was done, bringing the light closer so he could see into the remaining cavity. The length of his neck had originally been filleted open. Now the tissues were knitting together nicely, and there was only a scant amount of bleeding when she took away the packing. The essential blood vessels of the neck were no longer visible, thankfully. 

 

Regret tinged her voice, “I am afraid there will be a scar. You know that already.” She’d seen the other scars on his back and belly; no doubt he had plenty of experience.

 

“How long is it going to take to heal?”    

 

Hermione considered her answer before responding. “I expect it should close within the better part of a week. The scar itself will fade in a period of time measured in months to years.” 

She brought out the jar containing the poultice and reapplied it. The Professor remained quite still, watching her work in the mirror with half-lidded eyes. She had to stand close and she found herself very aware of the heat of his skin near her own, even through her trussed up layers of uniform. 

 

Moving slowly, she continued to work, using her lightest, most gentle touches. She could tell he was trying to take care not to breathe on her, but she could still smell the spearmint of the toothpaste he must have used this morning. Where had she smelled that before?

 

As she placed the bandage, she saw Snape’s dark eyes widen. Before she could blink, he snaked his hand about her left wrist and tilted her arm so that he could read the word carved into her flesh. Even now it looked angry and red in the magelight. The wizard’s grip tightened, and she was trapped. 

 

Fear gripped her and for a moment Hermione forgot how to breathe. Her tongue was like wood. She didn’t want to meet Snape’s gaze, so she trained her eyes on her right hand, where the poultice stained her fingertips spring green. Her heart pounded in her ears so loud that she almost missed the whispered query that she’d dreaded. 

 

“Who?” 

 

“Bellatrix.” 

 

Snape’s fingers let go as she spit out the hated name. 

 

Gathering her wits, she continued. “I prefer not to talk about it. Ask Draco if you absolutely must know more. Or Mr Malfoy. They were there.” She hated how she babbled on, and wished she’d remembered to use a glamour. 

 

She could feel that ugly old self-loathing gaining traction once more. She kept conquering it, over and over but she feared she would never be fully rid of it. Like Sisyphus, she laboured uphill against such melancholy. It was that, or be crushed under the weight of her own shame and guilt.

 

Snape processed her declaration, but his lack of outward emotion as he spoke was difficult to interpret. “I… see.” Hermione was left to assume the worst.

 

She didn’t want him to  _ see.  _ It wasn’t for him to think or feel anything about her scar. He was the patient, this wasn’t his job and he didn’t need the added stress either. She needed to finish up; to walk away. Vanishing her mess, she retrieved his shirt and helped him back on with it before also removing the hair tie, allowing his long black hair to curtain about his face once more. 

 

A traitorous pang of loss ached in her chest as she stepped back. Things would be different between them from here on out. What he must think of her? Walking wounded, both of them.

 

“I will return this evening. Draco has some paracetamol if you need it later.” He had access to stronger things too, but she would make sure Draco was stingy with them. It wouldn’t do to let her patient develop a habit. 

 

A wave of her wand later and her kit was packed up. She paused by the door to the bathroom where he remained, still seated. He had not moved from the spot, peering at her warily. “If you decide to shower, make sure the bandage stays dry, please. If it still gets wet, just have Draco send Poddy and I’ll tend to it as soon as may be.” She started kicking herself all over again mentally. He was a man, not an idiot. He probably knew all of this or could derive it from past experience. 

 

“Alright.” He bowed his head, the hair falling in a curtain that obscured much of his face. His nose was all that was visible from this angle.

 

“Do you have any questions?” A small voice inside her head pleaded,  _ Please don’t ask any more of me _ .

 

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you, Healer Granger.” Formal. Polite.  _ Cold _ .

 

Heart sinking lower still, she faked a smile before turning to flee the room.  
  


 

* * *

 

Severus paused in the doorway of the study, and found the Malfoys sitting quietly, a radio playing softly in the background. Neither of the ladies were present. Lucius was combing over the financial section in what looked like an American newspaper, and Draco was penning letters at a desk near the window, making use of the natural light. Unlike Granger, he still favoured a quill.  

 

“Ah, Severus! Good to see you up and moving. Did you sleep well?” 

 

Claiming the open armchair across from Lucius, he stifled a groan as he lowered himself into it. “Tolerably well, thank you.” His voice was stronger today, but he still felt as though he’d been struck by a lorry. 

 

Draco set his quill aside, looking the recovering wizard over with a critical eye. “Is your mind quite clear, sir?” 

 

“Clear enough to know that you’d allowed that pain potion to boil too long after adding the salamander blood, Draco. Tsk tsk.” Snape’s tone was very much that of his old Professor persona, all annoyance. He still had it. 

 

Wincing, Draco reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “You would notice that.” 

 

Severus slowly turned to look at Draco and arched a single eyebrow. “I was dead, not addlepated, boy.” He met Draco’s wince with a smirk. 

 

Laughing, Lucius summoned a servant. “Would you like anything to eat or drink, Severus? Healer Granger wants us to ply you with nibbles today. Nothing too ambitious, mind you.” 

 

Granger again. She was crowding his thoughts and it was starting to perturb Severus. “I think I’ll take some cheese, warm bread, and tea. Longjing if you are serving cheddar, Oolong if its blue. And figs, if you have them.” That was probably the most he’d said since he spoke with the Dark Lord. 

 

“I take it you read my note from this morning, Godfather?” Draco was up and crossing the room to join them. 

 

Severus inclined his head, not feeling that needed more of a response; he should spend his voice thriftily. The three of them made up a snug little cabal, wizards three. Lucius would do for the mother, and Draco would have to be the maid, but what would that make him? No, ridiculous. The pain potion was still toying with him, surely. 

 

Lucius retrieved a thick ledger book from the table next to him. “As the executors of your will, having been declared legally dead, initially there was little to do beyond recover your effects from the school and make funeral arrangements. Initially, your patents and assets were frozen pending a judgement from the Wizengamot as there was talk of legal action looking for financial retribution for your position as a Death Eater.” A fond hand caressed the side of the ledger book, and Lucius continued, “We retained solicitors to manage your legal and financial affairs, with Draco overseeing the work, as I was unavailable, being incarcerated for a ten year sentence.” 

 

That answers that question. Severus had thought to research the aftermath of the war quietly if Lucius did not volunteer the information. 

 

Draco took up the narrative, “I was sentenced for a short stint in Azkaban, and then was released on probation. By that time, your case was already presented to the Wizengamot. I congratulate you on having been cleared of nearly all charges, and pardoned of the remaining guilty judgment, for having taken the Dark Mark.” 

 

Severus tried to let that sink in. “I thought Dumbledore had taken care of that the first time I was tried?” 

 

Lucius answered, “He had, but as part of a plea bargain that would be rescinded if your conduct altered in a way that suggested a shift back to your original loyalties.” 

 

“Right. There was a great deal of controversy, but the testimony of so many prominent heroes along with having Arthur Weasley take over as the Head of the Wizengamot made it possible. You have been awarded an Order of Merlin, first class.” Draco smiled, “Congratulations, sir.” 

 

Grimacing, Severus shook his head in disbelief. “Ridiculous.” 

 

Lucius smirked at his friend’s discomfort at the recognition. “Once your finances and business holdings, such as they were, were released, Draco convinced Harry Potter that you would want to build a legacy, and as such, we managed to keep your estate separate from the Malfoy family holdings, to your benefit. We added a bit here and there, but I think you will be pleased with the results.” 

 

Both of the Malfoys were looking very pleased with themselves as Severus opened the ledger, finding the most recent tally. A wide smile spread on Severus’ lips as he considered the modest fortune, and then faltered.  “This cannot possibly be correct.” 

 

The two Malfoys shared a look before Lucius answered. “I assure you that it is. Draco has been managing your patents, and as such they have been quite lucrative.” 

 

Severus had been quite passive about his rights; he recalled Lucius chiding him for being so careless. He had quite enough to worry about at the time. 

 

Lucius continued to explain, “Additionally, the proceeds of the sale of your home in Cokesworth, and the monetary award that accompanied your Order of Merlin, which we elected to take as a lump sum instead of an annuity given your assumed demise was a respectable starting seed for your foundation. From there, good management has led it to flourish. Now, all you need to do is figure out what you want to do.” 

 

Severus flipped back through the pages. “How difficult would it be to reclaim this?” 

 

“As yourself out in the open, I imagine outside of a predictable backlash nothing would be easier.” Lucius leaned forwards, tapping the ledger with a finger. “If you intend to remain dead, it would be challenging, but we want to help you, whatever you choose.” 

 

“The others, your staff, are they a willing party to this secrecy as well?” 

 

Draco answered, “Granger has been adamant that you have this choice and intends to respect it. Romana is from Switzerland, but she seems quite trustworthy. Most of her work is a secret. Our servants are vetted and sworn on their magic to keep our secrets and that includes you, but we’ve kept their number down to reduce the exposure to risk.” 

 

“What of that blasted portrait?” Severus hated it. It had been enchanted against flame and solvents, which he supposed was intended to be a perk. He’d tested both and found the claims to be regrettably accurate. Dumbledore had similar protections on his. 

 

Lucius shrugged. “Nothing has changed, so I doubt McGonagall would notice. Draco and I will continue to visit your grave, and I will make sure to ask the Headmistress about your portrait every so often, although I think I shall inform Minerva that I’ve decided to cancel the Italian expert consultation.” 

 

“We can finally allow the town to pull the Shack down.” Draco grinned. “Or we could burn it to the ground. Make it an event, complete with scantily clad maidens and plenty of wine.” 

 

Severus shook his head, thinking that sounded uncomfortably close to the heyday of the Death Eater revels. Willing maidens, that would be something, but no. That wasn’t what he wanted any longer. “You have given me much to consider.” He looked at both wizards who’d stood by him so faithfully, “Thank you. I know I never confided in you as completely as I wished, but I never expected your understanding.” 

 

Lucius looked away. “I made many mistakes, Severus. I almost lost everything and everyone I loved when I’d hoped to elevate us all to a new world. The Dark Lord’s vision of the future was seductive, and I gave in to my greed and lust for power. I have come into wisdom much later than you.” 

 

A bitter laugh escaped Severus, and his throat was feeling worse, but he needed to say it. “We will never escape the taint of the Dark, but if my work helped to correct the mistakes I made, I am glad of it. I don’t think I will ever be able to fully make amends.”  

 

Draco spoke slowly, the lines of his face taut with suppressed emotion, “You saved my life and I thank you for it, Godfather.” 

 

“Well, if I hadn’t I would have been dead.” Severus chuckled again. “Merlin. I can’t stand this anymore.” He closed the ledger and it made a satisfying thump. “I’d like to take some time to consider my options before I make a decision.” One of his hands idly caressed the leather cover.

 

Severus eyed his friend as Lucius sent a signal to the staff, ringing a bell farther off. “New wand?” 

 

“Yew with a unicorn hair core.” 

 

That was quite the contrast to the original 1000 year old Elm with dragon heartstring. “Truly?” It struck Severus that Lucius never had a new wand, one that truly chose him. The irony of a pure-blooded wealthy wizard struggling under the burden of a hand me down wasn’t lost on Severus, who purchased a new wand at age 11.  

The servant appeared, bearing a tray with the requested vittles. 

 

As Severus started to eat, Lucius and Draco walked him through the current state of affairs. Kingsley Shacklebolt was retired as Minister of Magic, but he was still involved in politics. Harry Potter was an Auror now, along with Ronald Weasley who had unexpectedly risen higher in the ranks than his best friend. Both were breeding like rabbits. 

 

“And what of you, Draco? Any children?” 

 

Draco, perhaps to cover his discomfort answered with a mischievous lilt, “None that I know of.” 

 

“I have to admit, I am surprised. Any likely prospects?” 

 

Lucius watched with a faint smile while Draco squirmed under the scrutiny. 

 

“Not you too, Snape! Astoria and I never really worked out. Pansy’s married to Marcus Flint, and Tracey Davis is not interested in wizards. Besides, I’m not really marriage material.” He was entirely too vehement. 

 

Severus considered his mulish Godson, and decided to probe further. “You and Granger argue like an old married couple, have you considered her?” 

 

Draco sputtered, “Granger!? Are you mental? She’s completely unsuitable.” 

 

“She is your age, bright, successful…” 

 

Taking up the litany, Draco continued, “Arrogant, cold, priggish, bossy, insufferable, and she absolutely lacks any sense of humour.” 

 

Lucius snorted, “Well, I think you are being hard on her. She’s been polite and helpful. Is this the same witch?” 

 

“Ugh! She just always has to be right and everyone thinks the bloody sun shines out of her arse. You know, she tries to boss me around in the lab? Never mind the sensibilities of anyone else, she just doesn’t seem to care. She doesn’t even like me! She only has time to talk when she needs something from me, and whatever you do, do not get her angry. You might as well dig your own grave and lay down in it.”

 

Severus watched the exchange between father and son argue back and forth. He was fairly certain that he knew what was going on. She’d already turned him down, he’d bet on it. 

 

“And yet she wanted you as her second yesterday.” Lucius’ blue eyes were trained on his son. “Doesn’t that count for something?” 

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Great. Let’s build a dream castle on that, shall we?” He shook his head again. “You can just put that notion straight out of your head. She’d as soon marry a troll. The Gryffindor Princess is way too good for the likes of me.” 

 

Lucius was tired of his son’s petulance. “Son, that witch respects you. I don’t know how you managed such a feat, but it strikes me as a connection worthy of careful cultivation. A witch of her background is not going to have the same manners and sensibilities as we do and we need to make allowances. It is a new world, and I’d have thought that after a decade you’d have adapted.” 

 

“You just want an heir.” Merlin, Draco was still a spoiled brat. 

 

Shrugging, Lucius said blandly, “I could remarry. I should be grateful for any prospect, although I hope for a wife who was capable of receiving my affection.” 

 

Severus considered the subject. “Nothing but the deepest love could induce me into matrimony.” * 

 

Draco’s laughter rung out. “Can you believe this shit!” Between jags of laughter, the younger wizard managed to choke out, “Jane Austen, Godfather? Really? I’ve heard it all.” 

 

With exaggerated and fastidious care, Severus rubbed his nose with his middle finger. 

 

_ *Liza Bennett, Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wondrous [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the witchy [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by my good friend [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and the daughter of my spirit, [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> The art is mine. :)


	8. Chapter 7: Life Will Pass Me By

 

  


 

 

  
Chapter 7: Life Will Pass Me By  


 

Hermione hastened down the staircase, having changed out of her stuffy Healer togs. She was upset, unsettled, and needed to get away. She’d checked in with Luna who was a wonderfully accommodating friend, packed a change of clothes and intended to jog into town rather than take the floo.

 

A sweet voice interrupted her plans, “Hermione! Where are you going?”

 

As she came to a halt in the white marble foyer, feeling very out of place in her running things, Hermione schooled herself to patience. “On a run, actually.” Romana Lundar had been a true friend and deserved more than the minimum of courtesies, so she offered a more complete explanation. “One of my school chums lives in town. I’ve arranged to visit her for the afternoon, and decided to get some exercise at the same time.”

 

Smiling brightly, Romana looked over her shoulder, towards the office where the Malfoys waited for Snape. “Might I join you? I’ve made progress examining the Time Trap and I could use a sounding board.”

 

“That sounds interesting. Would you like to change? I can wait for you. I’m bringing clothes for tea, nothing too fancy. I’m certain Luna would be delighted to meet you.”  

 

Romana nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, I would like that. I think I could use a break too.” She held up a finger, “Wait for me? I shall be right with you.”

 

Hermione cast a Patronus, using the memory of seeing Professor Snape upright and smiling. It wasn’t the strongest she’d made, and she missed her happy otter who’d disappeared after the Battle. It took over a year before she could cast again, and the shape changed into that of a leopard. She liked to jest that her Patronus changed its spots. After giving it the message for Luna, Hermione started in on a few stretches.

 

Her ears were quite sensitive and she heard the Professor’s door click open upstairs. Panicking, she cast a disillusionment over herself before Snape could take notice of her.

 

Feeling like quite the voyeur, she watched him as he picked his way down the staircase. He didn’t have his signature scowl in place and in that unguarded moment she rather liked the way he moved - with the natural grace of a cat. It was an easy expedient to think of one’s teachers as old. Certainly, they were in a different league, but she wasn’t a schoolgirl any longer. Her fingers remembered the feel of his hair, and she thought she could smell the grass all over again.

 

The knut finally dropped. That strange combination of scents that she’d been reminded of this morning was the same scent as her Amortentia. Many years ago she’d sampled it back in Slughorn’s first potions class. Back then she’d believed that it belonged to Ronald Weasley, but later discovered that his affections were remarkably fickle. She’d taken that disappointment as proof that love magic was largely a hoax, dressed in the frippery of romance and fueled by the desperate desire to be wanted.   

 

“Oh!” The small sound escaped before she could smother it. It was as though she were a wanderer who had finally gained a map. She closed her eyes, praying to any deity who might be listening that Snape didn’t notice her.

 

When she opened her eyes once more, Snape was out of sight. Cancelling her disillusionment, she was rewarded with the sight of Romana galloping down the stairs in her ‘Five Toed’ trainers and neon yellow spandex. Yes, she and Luna were going to get along just fine. Coming to a halt next to the door, she chirped, “I am ready to go!”

 

Romana’s company was a distracting boon for Hermione as she chatted on about the Time Trap as it now was renamed. The mechanisms on the piece were much more complex than a regular Time Turner, and Romana postulated that the concept had real potential, as it also was capable of moving the wearer in space as well as time, but not the same as a port key.

 

The proposed theory generated questions from Hermione about the nature of the time stream as it relates to the Between of existence. Between was the theoretical void outside “being” that wizards stepped through briefly as “not being” during Apparition. Presumably, it was also the destination whence vanished things disappeared.

 

It was almost fascinating enough of a discussion to make Hermione forget her new revelation regarding Professor Snape. Almost.  


* * *

 

Luna greeted the sweaty witches at her door with easy grace and invited them to use her chambers to freshen up. She’d taken rooms over the Quill shop in town, and she’d rented a suite that was large enough to accommodate her boys when school wasn’t in session. As a consequence, it took little time at all before they were all snuggled in front of a crackling fire.

 

“You know, I thinking I might be ready to travel.” Luna had a way of flitting around conversations rather than fully integrating. “I wonder what Geneva is like this time of year?”

 

Rueful, Romana wrinkled her nose. “Frozen, windy, and dull.”

 

“Oh, but the skiing! The chocolate!“ Hermione leaned forwards, “My parents took me to Switzerland on holiday years ago. Skiing was one of the things we always did as a family.”

 

Romana looked wistful. “I’ve never seen much of England or Scotland. It is too bad I won’t be able to get much chance of it.”

 

“You are here for work then, not pleasure?” Luna passed over a plate of lime biscuits to Romana as she asked.

 

Hermione coughed, her eyes widening in warning.

 

“Only for a short time, and I’m afraid it will be coming to an end soon.” Romana seemed genuinely regretful as she turned to Hermione, “I do hope that we will stay in contact. It isn’t every day that I make a friend who understands anything of what I do.”

 

Touched, Hermione reached over to clasp Romana’s hand. “Count on it.”

 

Luna’s eyes lit up. “Oh, but we should have a girl’s weekend before you go! You should see some of the sights. Do you enjoy dancing?”

 

“Oh boy, do I!” She beamed. “Karaoke, I’d like to try it. I’m too embarrassed at home, but I am sure I can find the courage here with you.”

 

Hermione was not so sure she wanted to do such a thing. “I don’t know, Luna.”

 

A chime sounded next to the fireplace, and the flame bled from orange to green. Luna stood up, placing her cup down. “I don’t know who might be calling. Could be the school. Do you mind if I take this?”

 

There was no other answer, “Of course. Do you want us to step out?” Hermione was conscious of Romana’s hand in her own and let go.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary.” She turned the lever, opening her grate to the call, stepping back a pace to get the best view.

 

A blink later the elegant head of Lucius Malfoy popped into view. He was talking with someone to the side, believing himself to be waiting for an answer. “...this is where she went?”

 

Hermione cleared her throat, glancing at the time to be certain she hadn’t lost track. There was a clearly defined schedule that she’d worked out with Draco the night before.

 

Whipping around, Lucius’ eyes widened when he saw Luna. “Mrs Scamander. How lovely to see you.” He seemed nervous, and that increased Hermione’s concern.

 

“And you, Mr Malfoy.” She dipped her head in a polite acknowledgement, waiting for him to speak next but it seemed that his silvered tongue was failing him as his mouth opened, and yet no sound came out.

 

Caving into her worry and impatience, Hermione pushed herself up off of the lounge and came to stand next to Luna. “Is everything alright?”

 

It was most likely a trick of the light, but Lucius looked unusually flustered to Hermione. Whatever spell had come over him broke at her intrusion. “There you are, Healer Granger. I am sorry to interrupt you ladies, but I need you most urgently to come back to the house.”

 

Draco’s panicked shout carried through the fire, “Snape’s bleeding again, Hermione! Get your swotty arse over here NOW!”   

 

“Step aside, Mr Malfoy.” Hermione grabbed a handful of floo powder from the cute salamander-shaped bowl on Luna’s mantel, throwing it down as soon as the way was clear. “Malfoy Cottage!” She had no time to explain, and hoped that Romana might be able to make her excuses to Luna.

 

Steadying hands greeted her on the other side, but Hermione didn’t stop to thank Lucius. “Where? Point me!” Her wand tugged her towards the dining room, and differentials - lists of things that could have gone wrong - scrolled through her mind as she raced across the hallway.

 

The patient was seated in one of the dining room chairs, hunched over, wheezing. An alarming spatter of red blood was visible on the table and underneath a crimson pool collected at Snape’s feet.

 

“Right.” Hermione cast a basic diagnostic and snapped at Draco, “What has been done already?”

 

“I re-dosed him with the antivenom just now, but it is too early for the next blood replenisher.”

 

“Those units of blood we requisitioned are still good, aren’t they?”

 

“Right, I’ll get them.” Draco ran off, leaving her on her own with Snape.

 

Hermione vanished the contents of the long dining table and then hesitated. She’d rather not lay the Professor out here in full view like a banquet. Damn her imagination; damn you, Draco!

 

What she wouldn’t give for her team at St Mungo’s. “No time.” A swish and flick later and the Professor levitated out of the chair and up onto the tabletop, his arm flying up in alarm.

 

She could tell he was struggling to speak, and belatedly she understood that he was afraid of not being able to breathe if he laid down.

 

“Professor, I think one of the small vessels I repaired in your throat has torn. You are going to be alright, but I need you to do as I say. You will pass out if we don’t lay you down.”

 

“I will,” Snape coughed, his hand over his mouth dripping scarlet as he finished his thought, “if you do.” He was lily white, definitely going back into shock.

 

Hand forced, Hermione moved to cradle the Professor’s head with one hand and whispered, “Sorry, about this, sir. _Sominus inersi_!”

 

Snape closed his eyes and went completely limp, and a clock started counting down in Hermione’s mind. Guiding his head down gently to the table she knew she had no time to put on a mask or gloves. She had to fix the bleeding vessel and clear the blood from his airway before he asphyxiated. She had no magical airway, no potions, nothing but her magic and her wand, but she wasn’t going to let that slow her down.

 

She’d allotted herself less than a minute. Her Dad had recommended that whenever she tell a patient to hold his breath that she hold hers too so she didn’t lose track of time. That wasn’t practical when you needed to cast a spell, and this one couldn’t be rushed. “ _Sana sanguine. Sana sanguine…”_ Where was Draco? She needed that blood, and she needed his support. “ _Sana sanguine.”_

 

Growling in frustration she tapped her wand on Snape’s chest, pulling up the diagnostics that she dare not spend the time on before. The lining of Snape’s trachea had been ripped high, and she’d repaired it correctly. Still, the new tissue was very fragile, and she berated herself for letting him eat solids today.

 

“ _Anapneo_ .” A clot shot free, and Hermione neatly dodged it. _No time for silly wand waving._ She needed to wake up the patient. “ _Finite._ ”

 

Snape’s eyes snapped open as he sucked in a deep breath, and she felt the resultant stirring of the air against her cheek. He coughed and quickly drew in another breath. Hermione passed over a linen napkin she summoned from the floor, helping him mop away some of the blood from his shaking hands.  

 

Gradually his breathing slowed and she watched for the spark of reason to return to the Professor’s frightened eyes.

 

Judging him settled enough, she confirmed the diagnosis for him. “I have repaired a rip in your pharynx.” Hoping to reassure him, she placed a light hand on his shoulder. “Don’t try to speak yet. You are going to have to rest your voice and throat for another day, Professor. No more solid food until I give the all clear.”

 

Draco finally reappeared, supplies in hand. “Shall I give him the blood now?” His face twisted in undisguised dismay. The dining room resembled a homicide scene.

 

Hermione rechecked the readings of her diagnostic spell. “I think it would be safe to get him cleaned up and back into bed first. I don’t want him sitting up and he’ll need to take something to keep him quiet. I don’t want him coughing. I’d prefer not to paralyze him, Draco, but I will if I have to.”

 

Was it her imagination, or did Professor Snape get even paler at that threat?   


“I’ll go set up, you should engage an elf to help you and settle him.”

 

“Can’t your father assist him?” She really didn’t want to be the one to help him change clothes. She supposed that if he needed another dose of pain draught that it might go more smoothly. He’d been accepting of her this morning. Maybe it was her discomfort, not Snape’s dignity that made her shy away. Coward.

 

“You can play Mediwitch for a bit, can’t you?” Draco was heading back for the hall, and he called over his shoulder, “He’s busy entertaining Looney.”

 

“Oh, gods.” What had they done?

 

* * *

 

Severus found himself strolling along the edge of the lake outside Hogwarts castle. The sun was shining and it was warm, warm enough that he was walking about barefoot. The grass was unusually soft and cool. The stirring of the air, or perhaps his magic encouraged him to look to his left.

 

There walking beside him was Lily.

 

Although her hair shone bright as a penny in the daylight, she glowed with an inner light of her own. He knew it well, having had the luxury of warming himself by it for a little over five years, the happiest of his life. She was wearing a pretty cotton sundress and looked like a much younger version of herself. The happy, carefree girl he’d learned to love so well was here.

 

Her warm hand slipped into his own. He wanted this to go on forever. “Am I dead?”

 

“No, Sev.”

 

“Dreaming?”

 

“That’s the closest to the truth, I suppose.” She stopped them under a tree, tugging on his hand. “Sit with me awhile.”

 

He wanted nothing more. Anything to please her. “Of course.”  He let go of her hand, settling himself between its roots before opening his arm for her to join him. He expected her to have weight, to lean against him, but while his eyes told him she was there, the only change was a barely detectable warmth.

 

“I have come to say goodbye, Sev.”

 

Severus leaned forwards, the better to look into her face, searching it for the answer he hoped for. “What? Where are you going?”

 

“Where you cannot follow.” Her eyes were sad, her tone matter of fact.

 

He pleaded with her. “Lily. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me now. I only just found you.” He wracked his brain for the words that would keep her here. “I’m sorry.”

She reached up and pushed back his hair from his face, using a thumb to wipe away a tear. “Oh, Severus. I can’t do this for you. You have to forgive yourself. Haven’t you paid enough?”

 

He smiled a fraction. “Your son lived, Lils. I helped.” It sounded _so silly,_ but he needed her to know how very hard he tried for her sake.

 

“I know, Sev. He was so scared, so very brave. We made certain that he wasn’t alone. In the end, I think your strength inspired him to go on. I am so proud of you both.”

 

Pain sprouted in his chest and the light started to dim. “What’s happening?”

 

“I must leave you now. We’ll see each other again, I promise. But not for a lifetime.”

 

Shivering, he pulled her close. “Lily, why?” Even as he clung to her, her warmth was fading.

 

“Live for yourself. Promise me, Severus.” She was looking up into his face, her emerald eyes flashed passion. She wouldn’t accept no, as if he could ever tell her no.  

 

“Lily… “

 

“Promise, Sev! Swear it!”

 

“I swear.”   


* * *

 

When Severus opened his eyes, he found himself back in his bed. The details of the vivid dream slipped away, fading like morning mist. He recalled the feeling of Lily’s comforting heat in his arms, more pleasant than a summer day. If only it were real.

 

She was proud of him, but left him with the irksome demand that he should live for himself. Of all of the ridiculous things. He hadn’t the faintest notion of how to go about such a task. It would have been simpler to demand that he perform miracles. The impossible he could accomplish with a modicum of effort. But this? He was completely unprepared. Without Lily, there seemed to be little reason for any of it.  

 

Without her, his world was cold. Sterile. Empty. The white canvas of this dimly lit bedroom seemed to stare back at him accusingly, blank as the pages of his future. He pulled the white wool blanket up about his shoulders, turning on his side. He despised white. It was what was left when everything was taken away.   

 

A splash of colour attracted his notice: the dull crimson of dried blood. A familiar form drowsed, curled up in an armchair like a cat. Her head lolled forwards over a book that she cradled in her lap. It was her shirt and pants that were spattered like a Jackson Pollock. Idly he wondered if there was a market for such a work.

 

Miss Granger snored softly, with each exhalation she made a sweet little sigh. If it was possible to snore correctly, this was it, for she wheezed in a most charmingly feminine manner. The witch managed to be simultaneously polite and annoying, even in sleep. Always the overachiever.

 

His heart a fraction lighter, Severus let the sound of Hermione’s gentle breathing lull him back to sleep.   


 

* * *

 

Hermione woke with a start, and in so doing imprudently amplified a particularly acute crick in her neck. She’d fallen asleep, keeping vigil at Snape’s bedside. A lovely volume on nerve pathophysiology was balanced in her lap, its weight and warmth very much putting her in mind of her dear departed Crookshanks.

 

The half-kneazle had taken over patrolling the environs of Ottery St Catchpole in the months that Hermione, Ron, and Harry spent galavanting about the countryside just before the end of the war. His particular pleasure in life was a singular minded devotion to the harassment of garden gnomes.

 

She missed Crookshank’s grumpy fuzzy feline face. He’d passed away two years ago,  and she’d not enough time or inclination to obtain and bond with a new familiar. As if any could take his place. They had been so well suited to one another.

 

Wryly, Hermione reflected that books were the only things she cuddled up with anymore. If it were not for the necessity of interacting with people to ply her trade, she’d be in real danger of turning into a hermit.

 

Taking care to avoid making a sound, she checked on Snape’s particulars with her diagnostics charm. He was frowning in his sleep, but from what she gathered he was not in physical pain. Finding all well, she decided it was safe for her to slip away. As a precaution she cast a nanny charm to watch in her place. One could never be too careful.

 

It was two in the morning, and the house should have been quiet, but as she padded out into the hallway she could hear muffled laughter. It was Luna, although it sounded as though she were not alone. Alarm bells went off in Hermione’s head and she aborted her plans to go get cleaned up better and seek her own bed.

 

The door was open, and warm light from the room spilled onto the Hall floor.  Hermione’s eyes took a moment to get used to the brightness. It was with astonishment that she took in the scene before her. Two people were seated close to one another on a lounge, heads bent together over the pages of a book. Not only was Luna here, but the companion whose laughter was so pleasant a counterpoint to her friend’s was none other than Lucius Malfoy.

 

A cacophony of confused emotions washed over Hermione as she attempted to make sense of things. Perhaps if Hermione were not already so tired, she might have applied more wit to the government of her tongue. Brusquely she interrupted the pair’s amusement, “Luna! What are you doing here?” She turned accusatory eyes on Lucius as she waited for the response.   

 

The look of astonishment on Malfoy’s face was most gratifying, followed by the sweep of his eyes taking in the reality that he and Luna had been until then, quite alone.

 

Luna had a large album in her lap, but on seeing Hermione she pushed it to the side and stood to greet her friend. “Hermione! I was waiting for you, of course.” In a moment she was at Hermione’s side and was looking her over critically. “Do Healers decorate their clothes with their patient’s blood as proof of skill? Or is it meant to frighten off unwanted attention?”

 

It was Hermione’s turn to be embarrassed. “Oh! I must look a fright. Sorry, Luna. I only just now left the patient.” A furtive glance in Lucius’ direction did not reveal any helpful intelligence as to the state of Luna’s level of enlightenment.

 

Accepting this incomplete response as her answer, Luna gathered Hermione into a warm embrace. Hermione froze, unused to the familiarity of the gesture.

 

Luna whispered into her ear, “It will be alright, Hermione. I already know that you’ve been taking care of Professor Snape.”

 

Hermione sagged with relief. She didn’t like keeping secrets from Luna, and to tell the truth the witch seemed to always know more than she ought. It might be magically impossible to keep secrets from her, but that was an idea to examine more closely later.

 

A new concern flooded her mind and she looked over at Lucius, wondering what his plan was. Was he going to Obliviate Luna, or make her swear on her magic as everyone else had done who was associated with Operation Prince (as Hermione had privately renamed it, given their success)?

 

“I have invited Mrs Scamander to stay with us tonight, so that we may all meet again in the morning.” So Lucius did have a plan, but was waiting to execute anything more permanent.

 

Luna kept an arm about Hermione’s shoulders, her eyes searching Hermione’s face in growing concern. “You have spent yourself too freely.”

 

A sad smile lifted one corner of Hermione’s lips. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever implied that I look like something that Crookshanks hacked up.”

 

Forced laughter came from the couch as Lucius stood stiffly. “I should never suggest anything of the sort. Can I get you anything, Healer Granger? Tea? A sleeping draught? I think Draco has a supply.” After a pause and perhaps taking in her appearance more fully, he added, “Whiskey?”

 

Leaning her head on Luna’s she sighed. “I think I need to get to bed. Professor Snape appears to be out of danger for now, and he should be able to sleep through. Enough time for a few hours rest at least.”

 

“How do you manage this all of the time, Hermione?”

 

“Adrenaline is a potent drug.”

 

“Healer Granger, I am amazed. I never thought of you as a risk seeker.”

 

Hermione snorted. “It isn’t the risk that brings me back. It the satisfaction that comes with success.”

 

“Like the cat.” Luna smiled fondly at Hermione, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair that had escaped the charms that usually held everything in place.

 

Recalling his duties as host, Lucius noted the time. “Ah! I think that we should all retire for the evening. Mrs Scamander, Healer Granger. I bid you a good morning.”

 

“Thank you, Lucius. And I’ve already told you, please do call me Luna. I prefer that.”

 

A softening of the tight, polite smile on Lucius’ face assured Hermione that he understood the proprieties associated. “If you insist.”

 

Luna smiled serenely. “Come, Hermione. Let us get you to bed.”

 

Too tired to process much more than the comfort of Luna’s guiding arm, Hermione obeyed her friend and left the room, forgetting any misgivings she might have had.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning Hermione woke with a groan. She’d been up to check on the Professor twice, medicating him once. The second time she’d found Draco was awake, and he took over the monitoring so she could get some sleep.

 

Luna had insisted on helping her wash up and into fresh scrubs for bed. Hermione didn’t want to have to dash off in a nightie if there were an emergency, and the uniform did preserve a distinction of rank that she found comforting. Having done that she’d curled up beside Hermione in the large bed, in a too large nightshirt of softest Prussian blue silk. They were both too tired to mind, at least until now, when Hermione found herself huddled on the edge of the bed whilst Luna spread out like a starfish worshipping a distant sun.

 

The time on the nearby clock alarmed Hermione for a moment, until she recalled that she wasn’t expected in to work, and that Draco had taken over the duties with Professor Snape. She was still tired, but she wasn’t sleepy and couldn’t force herself to drift back off into slumber. It wasn’t a talent that she possessed.

 

Careful not to wake her bedmate, Hermione slipped out and into the bathroom, casting silencing charms before turning on the shower. When she finally emerged, she found Luna already awake and incredibly cheerful. “Good morning, Hermione! I slept like a tarasque. Are you ready for breakfast?”

 

“Almost.” As she pulled on her uniform, she asked, “Tarasque?”

 

“A chimera who was tamed by Saint Martha. Rolf and I spent time together searching for signs of her in France. It is difficult to locate creatures who sleep for centuries, deep in the earth, but we did have a nice holiday.” Luna was brushing her hair, but didn’t seem to have need of a mirror.

 

Hermione’s mind lurched into gear, catching up with the reference. “Wasn’t it killed by a mob, and the townsfolk later regretted the murder and changed the name of their town to Tarascon as a reminder?”

 

“That is the story. I don’t think the tarasque really died. I think she’s sleeping somewhere, waiting for her moment to return, perhaps when humanity has become capable of understanding that she is not in actuality a murderous monster.” She smiled happily, “Much like Professor Snape.”

 

Fingers slowing in the process of buttoning up her shirt, Hermione asked, “What do you know thus far?”

 

“I know that Professor Snape is in fact alive, but severely injured, and that you have been closeted up here with the Malfoy’s and that fascinating Dr Lundar here for the better part of a month as a team to rescue him.” She positively glowed, “I think it is wonderful, Hermione.”

 

Sighing, Hermione did up her last button and smoothed her hands over the formal green robes. She didn’t like wearing them normally, but she did look good in them. Turning her attention to her hair, she mused aloud, “I don’t know if the Professor wants to come back.”

 

“I wonder if the wizarding world, having repented of their ill opinion of him, will stand up to the test of his actually having the bad taste to survive?” Luna’s laughter was infectious. “Poor Professor Snape.”

 

Swallowing her amazement at Luna’s excellent grasp of the problem, Hermione was not nearly so diverted. “Yes. He deserves a choice, don’t you agree? If he decides to disappear, to change his name and face, will you agree to help him? Luna, I never meant to drag you into this, but my anxiety on this point must have an answer.”

 

Luna crossed the room and took Hermione’s hand. “Hermione. You worry needlessly. I would never betray Professor Snape’s confidence. If he asks it, of course I shall swear on my magic and will do so with a light heart.” She squeezed her hand. “Now, I think we are both quite hungry and I’d rather not discuss anything more serious until after I’ve had a cup of tea.”   


* * *

 

Severus sat, propped up in bed with a suffusion of pillows and regarded the bowl of gruel before him with a sneer of distaste.

 

“Come now, Godfather. Be good and I’m sure Healer Granger will let you have something more ambitious for breakfast tomorrow.”

 

He’d woken to discover that his voice was silenced, and Draco had made haste to explain that because of the relapse yesterday, he was not to talk at all this morning. Normally this would not be an imposition, as he was not really a morning conversationalist. The indignity of having to deal with his godson as his keeper made the lack of speech a burden. He was resigned to scowls and other facial expressions combined with hand gestures to express his thoughts.

 

Draco was largely immune to such things and thought the rude hand gestures were excessively amusing.

 

After eating enough of the food provided to satisfy his jailer, Severus requested quill and parchment. From there he spent the rest of the morning writing letters. He had come to a decision, and as such saw no reason to put off orchestrating his reintroduction to the Wizarding World.

 

* * *

 

That afternoon, as Lucius was sitting down to tea with three charming ladies, whose company he was rather enjoying, his pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a grey-faced servant. “Sir. There are visitors at the door.”

 

Lucius set down his tea, not certain as to who might be coming to call. His acquaintances sometimes would find him here, but he had not expected any. He looked at his guests and none of them appeared to be any the wiser.

 

“Who is it, Sampson?”

 

“Aurors Potter and Weasley, sir. And Chief Warlock Arthur Weasley.” The man swallowed, before adding, “Also Headmistress McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Minister Brimblecombe.”

 

Apprehending the heart of the matter, Lucius stood and straightened his clothes. “I see. Did they all arrive together or separately?”

 

“The Headmistress arrived first, and while I was situating her in the study, the others all arrived together. I believe they came directly from the Ministry in London. They are quite excited, sir.”

 

Cursing internally, Lucius had little doubt as to what had transpired. “Open several bottles of Champagne and have the kitchen staff work on nibbles and dinner for our expanded party. I shall join them directly.”

 

As the butler hurried away, Lucius turned to Hermione. “I think you had better go and check on your patient. It seems that he has decided to reveal his presence to the world but failed to apprise the rest of us before taking action. He always did have a vile sense of humour.”

 

The color drained from Hermione’s face, and in her eagerness to escape upstairs she was across the room before the last of those comments were out of Lucius’ mouth.

 

Luna turned to Romana, “We shall have to be more careful than Saint Martha was.” Of all, she was the only one smiling as she explained the legend to her new friend in enthusiastic but hushed tones.

 

Meanwhile, Lucius picked up his walking stick and prepared to do battle on the field of politics on the behalf of his friend.

 

* * *

 

Draco had been enjoying himself, subjecting Severus to the torture of listening to what he called ‘his playlist;’ a seemingly interminable succession of muggle songs having no discernible unifying theme or characteristics beyond a design to annoy his patient. Severus bore up under the auditory abuse, anticipating the results of his day’s work to arrive and relieve him any moment.

 

It was with extreme pleasure that Severus observed the proceedings as Healer Granger rushed into the room, surprising Draco with enough force to make him fall off his chair.

 

As Draco picked himself up, Granger rounded to face her patient. “Have you done this? Do you have any idea… what are you thinking, sir?!!”

 

Still silent by Granger’s prescription, Severus limited his response to a smirk. It was enough.

 

Whirling on Draco, the Healer glared at him, the full force of her displeasure clearly looking for a fair target. The Healer’s mane of hair puffed up in anger and sparks of red magic leapt off of her dangerously. Her jaw was clenched, her fingers working open and closed as waves of anger tested the Healer’s control.

 

It was amusing to watch as Draco stammered his excuses. He looked over at the place where Severus had collected his stack of letters earlier. Severus allowed the illusion he’d crafted to disguise their absence to disappear. The horror on his godson’s face as he was fully acquainted with the results of his inattention was quite gratifying.

 

On the table the iPad at last stopped playing as a flash of crimson light reduced the terrible thing to a smoking pile of melted metal and ash. It was an impressive display of wild magic.

 

“You let the Professor make and act on a life altering decision, sending out letters to all of the most important figures of the war. He even sent for the bloody Minister of Magic himself!” She screeched, “He’s downstairs right now, no doubt demanding to see him. I cannot allow it! Not today! He’s in no shape or state of mind to answer whatever questions they have, and now your father is facing them down. I hope you’re happy with yourself, both of you!”

 

As the shouting continued, it occurred to Severus that perhaps he should have thought this through a little further. He could be a trifle more potions-addled than he thought, but shouldn’t his Godson know this? Granger did make good points.

 

Any compassion he might have felt for her discomfort as a consequence of his actions blew away in the wind of her unchecked abuse as she laid Draco out for his perceived failures as a nursemaid.

 

Granger was a professional, and a disgustingly dedicated one. In this it worked against her, as she was oath bound not to loose her rage on his person. At least in any material way. Yes, he felt quite safe.

 

He missed what was said next, and before he knew it, Granger was at his bedside, performing her office as Draco sprinted from the room. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

 

“Your throat is still too delicate, too friable. I am afraid you will be confined to this bed and silence another day. It cannot be helped. I apologize for the inconvenience.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

 

Next she moved on to administering the potions, explaining each concisely. A change of bandages was accomplished there in the bed with brisk efficiency. Her touch was still gentle but she had no interest in chatting, and for that Severus supposed he was thankful.

 

As he drifted off a to potions-induced sleep, Severus’ traitorous mind occupied itself with admiration for the expressive fire he saw in the impassioned Hermione Granger’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

Hermione sat on the edge of the Professor’s bed, fingers stained green and her world spinning dizzyingly on its axis. Everything was moving entirely too fast. Except for her parents, nearly all of the important people in her life waited downstairs and would require an _explanation_.

 

She’d kept this an absolute secret, and now she could see that it wasn’t dear to her only for the Professor’s sake. Her own part in this whole affair was one that she would much rather have remained a secret. She expected to control the release of information amongst her closest friends, and to avoid the public eye entirely. Now there was little hope to maintain any degree of anonymity for herself in the affair.

 

She summoned one of the house elves, Willa, and asked her to maintain security for the room. No one besides herself or the Malfoys were to have access to Professor Snape.

 

It was time to face the music. Opa Granger Style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by the incredible [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the insightful [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by the recently ill [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and tired of the patriarchy's shite, [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> 


	9. Newspaper Article - Art only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The text for the paper will be on the next page. Apologies to mobile users.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's where I got the stuff to make this!](http://creativeedtech.weebly.com/blog/harry-potters-daily-prophet-newpaper)


	10. Chapter 8: Open Up My Eyes

 

Chapter 8: Open Up My Eyes

 

**The Daily Prophet, Breaking News!**

S _everus Snape Lives!_

 

_22 January 2013_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland._

 

_The whole of the Wizarding World is shocked to learn that lauded war hero, Severus Snape is, in fact, alive and here in Hogsmeade! The Ministry of Magic released a statement confirming that the enigmatic wizard who Harry Potter credited as the linchpin of his success in defeating Tom Riddle did not, in fact, actually die in the Battle of Hogwarts nearly fifteen years ago. That’s right, dear readers, Severus Snape Lives! You heard it here first._

 

_Snape was presented personally with his writ of Pardon, his Order of Merlin first class, as well as a letter of thanks from the Wizengamot by Chief Warlock, Arthur Weasley, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the Minister of Magic, Basil Brimblecombe in a private ceremony.  Also in attendance were Auror and Saviour, Harry Potter, Senior Auror Ronald Weasley, Master Healer Hermione Granger, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Master Potioneer Draco Malfoy, and his father, Lucius Malfoy._

 

_None of the principles has been available for comment. “None of your business, young lady! Now, leave before I turn you into a chamberpot!” - Headmistress McGonagall._

 

_“I don’t know why anyone is surprised. Snape is the most exemplary Slytherin of all, as far back as Merlin. We’re survivors above all else.” - Fergus Crowley of Edinburgh._

 

_Where has the controversial ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts been this whole time? Wild speculation abounds, and many believe that he had been abroad, seeking healing after suffering severe wounds. What is certain is that he has lately been staying with the Malfoy family._

 

_All appeals for a personal statement or interview from Mr Snape have been summarily rebuffed. The Ministry requested that the Malfoys and their esteemed guest be afforded their privacy. Flocks of well and ill-wishers alike have streamed into Hogsmeade, and the atmosphere here has been tense to say the very least._

 

_The Postmaster in Hogsmeade has requested that those wishing to contact Professor Snape refrain from sending explosives, howlers, and other noxious missives as the Professor has retained a High-Security Post Box. “I will call down the full force of the law on any who cause harm to my premises, staff, or the owls with reckless gestures.” - Blue Morton._

 

_Is this a stunt set up by the Minister of Magic to turn attention away from talks with the European Congress? The timing, coming up on the Fifteenth Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War is quite curious._

 

_See page 3 for speculation about the returned wizard’s fortunes and eligibility and page 8 for the contradictory claims of two witches who claim to be engaged to the elusive wizard._

 

_~ Salacia Rankle, Reporter. The Daily Prophet._

 

* * *

 

Hermione exerted her authority as Snape’s Healer for the two days following his “coming out” with an iron fist. No alcohol or solid food and no more than two visitors at a time. Snape was expected to write out his communications for the first day instead of speaking aloud.

 

Lucius was quite certain that the fool had irritated Healer Granger in some material way, and he was surprised it had not happened sooner. She wasn’t the same witch Snape knew over a decade ago. She bore his attempts to anger her with cool professionalism instead of allowing things to degenerate into pointless sniping. Lucius found his respect for Granger rising, and still worried at the change in her manners.

 

Before Snape announced his existence to the world, she’d been really starting to warm to Lucius, and he thought she might even care for Severus. The signs were subtle, much more so than one would expect, but he supposed that was his prejudice coming through. She did stay on, and Lucius believed that counted for quite a lot.

 

Every evening the witch retreated into letter writing and reading, sitting apart from the others. She hardly ever spoke over meals, except to ask that someone pass her the salt.

 

Healer Granger wasn’t the only worry for Lucius. Before long Draco was called back to St Mungo’s, although he still graced them with his presence in the evenings. He made light of the questions he was asked at work, but Lucius saw the symptoms of strain in his son.

 

One other unfortunate consequence of Snape’s decision to re-enter the public eye in such an abrupt manner was the revelation of Dr Romana Lundar’s involvement. A squad of Unspeakables appeared a mere hour after Minister Brimblecombe left the house and if it were not for McGonagall and Granger’s interference, she would surely have been carried away by the zealots for questioning. Lucius had been afraid that it would be necessary to send her back to Geneva using unofficial channels, but Auror Weasley came to the rescue with a writ of Diplomatic Immunity, no doubt granted very hastily by his father. Safe, she’d resolved to do as much as she could, and planned to quit the country by next Monday under pressure from home.

 

It fell to Luna Scamander and Lucius to maintain civil conversation over meals. Luna was a godsend, and Lucius though she was an angel, sent down in his family’s time of need. He knew he was unworthy of any sort of attention from a divine creature such as herself, and he was acutely aware of the ill his family had done her personally during the war.

 

When she’d appeared through the fire that fateful evening he was momentarily struck speechless. Lucius was flinced, overwhelmed, and entranced. He was immediately drawn to her and yet those old sins held him back as he gave her a hand through. He’ll never forget her words to him, “Don’t fret, Mr Malfoy. All will be well. We are here now.”

 

Her pleasant, easy manners and agreeable nature put him at his ease.  In their distraction, neither his son nor Healer Granger seemed to notice when the witch extended her visit there in the cottage. He found himself planning amusements that he thought might please her under the guise of reintroducing Severus to society.

 

Luna loved to go for walks, and enjoyed his gardens, even though it was winter. Because the others were taken up with their own distractions, he had her to himself quite often. When she took his arm he forgot his own troubles. He found himself wishing that she’d never leave.

* * *

 

Severus resented his confinement. Granger’s restrictions irked him increasingly every day even as they gradually loosened. The Healer controlled his visitation time, just as she might if this were a hospital, and the Malfoys let her. She decided what he could and could not eat. What is more, the Healer herself was quite altered and none for the better. Gone were any pleasantries, and she seemed to be avoiding his company. She even went as far as to set a ridiculous schedule. He was certain no real consideration was taken for him when she set the appointments. It was all for her own convenience. In short, Granger was on a power trip and it was driving Severus mad.

 

There was no privacy. The house elf admitted that they’d been set to monitor him when he tried to test his voice when he woke on the second day. The elf silenced him, for Merlin’s sake. Elves could not be swayed for they served out of devotion and Severus admired her ruthless economy. They alerted her to changes in his condition, or if he were violating her orders. She was ten times worse than Madam Pomfrey ever was.

 

Try as he might, he couldn’t get her fired up. He’d taken to finding new ways of irritating her, hoping to get any sort of reaction. He could use a good fight, and it seemed to him that she’d be an excellent opponent. Better yet, she had an overdeveloped sense of obligation to protect him even from himself. He’d need not guard his words, she was very tough.

 

Alas with Granger, there was a very little conversation to be had at all. If it did not pertain to his injuries and their treatment, then she did not offer an opinion.

 

Each morning he was presented with a list of people who wished to meet with him. In this, he did have some control, and he took a measure of pleasure in refusing to see almost all of them.

 

Since Granger was already controlling his time, he forced her to help him sort through the people who applied to him. Having her serve as secretary mollified his irritation, although she insisted that he still pen his own letters of regret or thanks.  “There is nothing wrong with your hands or your eyes, sir.”

 

The afternoon of the first day he was permitted to speak freely she brought a pensive and a vial of memories sent up from Hogwarts by Neville Longbottom, who he learned had taken Pomona Sprout’s post teaching Herbology. It was a full vial containing a first-hand view of the final confrontation at Hogwarts.

 

It began with Voldemort’s declaration of Potter’s demise and call for the denizens of Hogwarts to join his new world. He admired Longbottom’s speech, and the Gryffindor’s refusal to give in. Draco’s crossing the lines to return to his parents was not surprising, and Severus marvelled at the difference in the boy now compared to that fateful day, only last week to Severus.

 

He was thrilled as he watched Neville deliver the death-blow to Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor.  Severus decided to write a note of thanks to the wizard later, for while the blow was not dealt for his sake, he found it intensely satisfying. Sending him the memory was a thoughtful gesture, and Severus appreciated it immensely.  

 

It was with bittersweet triumph that Severus viewed the death of Voldemort, and it took several viewings before reality sunk in. They'd won. He did it. It was well and truly over.

 

Several hours later he surfaced to find the Healer’s chair occupied by Lucius, who’d come armed with his flask. Regardless of whether the whole thing had been orchestrated for his ease, or hers, Severus needed his friend most that night, not his Healer.

 

The next day he received Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived had grown into a man, and his confidence suggested he was a competent Auror. He had thought to bring with him the memories that he’d retrieved from Severus in that desperate hour, returning them at last to their rightful owner. Along with the memories, Harry brought genuine expressions of thanks for everything Severus did.

 

Taller, broader in the shoulder, and wearing his long hair tied up in a ridiculous bun, it was difficult to see the boy that he’d once resented. The vivid green eyes were the only feature that had not changed, although a Healer finally had acquainted Harry with corrective vision spells. The affection that Harry felt for him took Severus entirely by surprise. Potter had named his second son after Severus and expressed a wish to introduce the boy to his living namesake. Before he left, Severus agreed to come for dinner when he was well enough.

 

After Minerva McGonagall’s visit, Severus expelled everyone from his rooms and did not come down for dinner, as he was permitted to do so now. Minerva was the first person from his old life who had broken down in helpless tears, begging his forgiveness. He wasn’t a monster, and he could not refuse her. Nor could he burden her with the spectres of his failure, brought back to the forefront of his thoughts as she reminded him of people they’d lost. Granger offered him a dose of Dreamless Sleep that night, and for once he did not decline.

 

* * *

 

Under a great deal of emotional pressure, Hermione retreated from society. Luna was one of the few she could tolerate, and privately she was very glad of her presence in the cottage. Romana was the only other rational person on the premises. The witches weren’t thoughtless, selfish idiots. It was a relief to be able to complain to such sympathetic peers.

 

“Take this morning. I went in to give Professor Snape the potions and walk him through his therapy, and he ignored me for a solid twenty minutes.”

 

Romana shook her head, “What was he doing?”

 

“Reading the paper and finishing a cup of tea.”

 

Luna raised her eyebrows, asking, “And what did you do?”

 

“Well, I paced about the room, and once I tired of that, I took out a book and amused myself until he deigned to acknowledge my presence.”

 

“Was he not expecting you?” Romana was looking very confused by all of this.

 

Hermione hugged herself, trying to soothe her nerves. “I arranged appointments with him so that he could make himself available. I do not wish to be underfoot any more than necessary.” She couldn’t help herself, as unworthy as it was, and added, “He is determined to make this as unpleasant as possible while maintaining the outward appearance of good manners. He is teaching me to despise him and I’d not thought that possible.”

A gentle touch on her shoulder drew her attention to Luna. “Is Professor Snape really acting so out of character? Wounded animals often attack their pack mates.”

 

Ears heating in embarrassment, Hermione became uncomfortable as her friend reminded her of the expectation of making allowances for the injured. “That is a possibility. I just wish that he wasn’t so dedicated to willfully misunderstanding everything I say and do. I don’t know how to make this better for him.”

 

“I think you are simply exhausted, Hermione. You have dedicated all of your energy to Snape’s rescue and rehabilitation. Does he ever say thank you?” Romana made a very good point.

 

“Not since the first day.” Hermione was taken aback. It was the unvarnished truth, but she’d not noticed it before now. She should not care, as Snape was under no obligation to be nice to her. She was his Healer, not his friend. He’d certainly never extended her any compassion as a teacher. And yet here she was, bellyaching about it.

 

Romana offered a comparison. “Mr Malfoy’s manners are amazingly pleasant, and even now he continues to be a very attentive host. How are those two even friends, I wonder?”

 

Luna’s face lit up, luminous as her namesake at the mention of the elder Malfoy. “Oh yes, Lucius is wonderful. He is everything that a wizard should be. I am excessively fond of him, you know.” She laughed at Hermione’s stunned expression, “What a shock that must be.”

 

Waaaaaaait.

_Hold the phone._

**Shut the door.**

“What?!”

 

“Oh, I thought you would have noticed. I am quite attached to Lucius. He’s very agreeable company, and he listens to me. Even about the Nargles.” She was leaning forward, her long hair in danger of dropping into her tea.

 

Hermione’s mouth hung open. Surely not, she thought to herself. Surely, Luna who was a prisoner at Malfoy Manor for months, who witnessed torture and was mistreated terribly, and also who knew that Hermione was captured and tortured by the hands of Malfoy’s relations, was not becoming fond of the old villain. Such a connection was unthinkable, for a snake was still a snake even if he did have lovely manners. It defied reason, but then again, this was Luna.

 

She threw Hermione a furtive look. “I should have known the first day I saw you in the Three Broomsticks. Those Wrackspurts you’ve attracted have multiplied and I am willing to bet it is Professor Snape that’s attracting them. It is difficult to look at you with all of them swarming about you. You really should do something about them.”

 

Romana asked, “But what could be done? I can’t see these fascinating Wrackspurts.”

 

“They’re attracted by strong feelings and make it hard to think clearly.”

 

“I thought I had Nargles?” Hermione was still trying to process that Luna actually like-liked Lucius. _Luna and Lucius sitting in a tree_. The idea was distasteful. She hoped it was a passing fling, not anything lasting.

 

“Oh, those too. I think you picked those up at Christmas, they do infest mistletoe. Have you been missing anything? Shoes or hair ties, perhaps?”

 

“No.”

 

“Hmm.” Luna seemed to be considering the mystery. “Maybe your lack of faith weakens their power over you.” It didn’t sound like a compliment to Hermione.

 

“Right.” Hermione glanced at the time, trying to decide if she was ready to go back up there and march her unwilling patient through his paces.

 

It was Romana who pointed out the glaringly obvious. “Hermione, why can’t Mr Snape come to you at St Mungo’s? Come to think of it, could not some other Healer take over his care?”

 

“And give up all of this?” Hermione smiled, thinking of the vocal exercises she’d had him practising. His range was astonishing and his diction exemplary. It was diverting to listen to him sing scales with silly nonsense, like ‘Me-moo me-moo me-moo.’

 

“Oh, I thought you might have something else you’d rather be doing.” Romana was looking at Hermione with open curiosity and it made her wonder if her expression had betrayed her momentary lapse in vexation.

 

“While possible, it would mean exposing him to the public and sharing his case file. I wanted to see this through. He’s nearly there. A few more days and I will be certain of his recovery.”

 

Her duties as Snape’s de facto social secretary afforded her some measure of amusement. It also allowed her to anticipate difficulties, and Hermione shamelessly meted out the most difficult meetings. Those she judged that would be most wearing or trying were imposed with hard time limits, and she took care to warn them against overtaxing her patient.

 

It was her idea to ask Neville to share his memories of the final battle with Snape. She particularly wanted the memory of Neville slaying Nagini included as she felt it important for the wizard’s emotional closure. Lucius was her co-conspirator and stepped in when they felt that Snape needed to talk as he was the man’s friend.

 

She was becoming accustomed to dealing with the Professor’s mood swings and his temper. It was familiar and fitted her expectations. What bothered her was that he seemed to take a particular delight in singling her out for censure, while everyone else was treated with civility. It was Hogwarts all over again.

 

When she took on this project, she’d worried that this would be the case, and yet now that she was faced with the entirely sensible suggestion that she pass the responsibility on, she found that she was unaccountably reluctant to do so. The realization that their time together was drawing to its natural close brought her intellectual engine to a shuddering halt.

 

She didn’t want to leave, to let go. She could not admit as much aloud to her friends, but there it was. As sour and unpleasant as he was, she was in as much danger as ever of falling for him.

 

At first, she’d thought her feelings for him were purely of admiration and respect, and the position she was put in allowed her to feel responsible for his health and well being. A sort of mothering instinct, she expected. But the _Amortentia_ , combined with his effect on her could not be explained away so easily.

 

Lost in these thoughts, she’d been silent too long. Luna cleared her throat and asked in a way that suggested to Hermione that she was repeating her question. “And what shall you do then, Hermione? Will you return to St Mungo’s straight away?”

 

“I haven’t really thought that far. As the Hospital Administrators have figured out where I’ve been and whom I am attending, they’ve written me a blank check for as much leave as I’d like. Unpaid, of course, but that is immaterial.”

 

Romana exclaimed, “That’s generous! Maybe I should take you back to Geneva with me.”

 

“Oh, I’d like to come for a short visit.”

 

Waggling her eyebrows, Romana teased her in a sing-songy voice, “I’ve got a cousin who is a ski instructor. I’m sure he would be delighted to take you... up the slopes.”

 

Catching the innuendo, Luna smirked. “Very kind offer. Does he have a, what do the girls say now? A crackin’ arse?”

 

Scandalized, Hermione exclaimed, “Luna! Where did you learn such a thing?”

 

“Liverpool, I think.” All three witches dissolved into girlish laughter, which was so lively that they attracted the notice of the rest of the house.

 

They’d carried on for a good five minutes when Draco slunk into the room. He’d been nominated to investigate and said as much, “The old wizards want to know what is so funny, and I think the one with the cane was muttering something about the sanctity of his lawn.” He winked at Luna.

 

Romana, being very worldly thought nothing of answering with complete, painful honesty. “We were talking about the wealth of excellent examples of the male arse to be seen in some place called Liverpool.”

 

Draco coughed, as though he’d choked on something. “Ack! I suppose… cough cough… that may be true.” He recovered with a wicked smile. “I wouldn’t know, not having undertaken a survey in person.”

 

Luna cackled, “Oh, you are too funny. Shall we invite him along, ladies?” It was certain now that they would be going out this weekend, and nothing short of a natural disaster or other act of God was going to stop them.

 

“Along with us? I don’t know, Draco. Do you like karaoke?” Hermione was too certain that he’d say no. Too bad she was wrong.

 

“I have been told I have a fair singing voice.” He shined his nails on his shirt and blew them off. “How about you, Granger?”

 

A stuffed expression from Hermione answered him loud and clear, and before she could say anything,  Romana clapped her hands. “It is settled. We shall all go out.”

 

Draco pulled up a chair and seated himself, steepling his hands before him with a very serious expression. “I for one, believe this sounds like a wonderful idea. Tell me more about what you had in mind.”

 

Hermione did little more than sputter as Luna and Draco ironed out the details. She was completely unprepared when Draco turned to her to  ask, “What of your patient?”

 

Swallowing, she said, “I think he will be recovered enough by then to get on without me. I have been contemplating releasing him, now that he’s mostly out of danger.”

 

Luna and Romana both looked at Hermione knowingly, but Draco slapped the table in delight. “Finally! I can’t bear his Granger-griping much longer. It has been what, three days since he last tried to bleed to death? That’s a nice change of speed, eh?”

 

Hermione blinked. She’d known that her patient was chafing under her influence, but it was quite another to hear of his displeasure from another source. She controlled the impulse to ask for an explanation. There could be no satisfaction from knowing such things. “Yes. I shan’t miss it.” Misery curled its fingers about her throat, choking out the joy she should be feeling in her own success.  

 

It was impossible to attend to what the others chatted over, and after another five minutes, she felt compelled to leave the room. It was too loud and she needed to think. She looked at her watch, and then apologized to her friends, “I have just recalled something that I need to attend to. Excuse me, I shall return after a while.” Summoning an unconvincing smile, she rose from her seat, waving Draco down as he moved to stand in deference to her.

 

* * *

 

Luna looked after Hermione as she beat a hasty retreat. “Oh dear.”

 

“I know. Poor thing.” Romana saw it too.

 

Draco tapped a finger on the table twice, looked at at the door to be certain Hermione was out of earshot, and then turned back to the ladies with a predatory grin. “ _What_ was that?”

 

* * *

 

It was Thursday afternoon and Severus had nothing more strenuous on his schedule than a good book and perhaps a nap. He would never admit it, but he was still quite tired. Intellectually he understood this, but part of him chafed at the fetters of his own limitations. Was he getting old? The morning was eventful, but tea with an old friend was surely not too much for his reserves.

 

He had passed a pleasant morning visiting with Madam Pomfrey. She’d always been so kind to him, and that last year was quite rough on them both. Of everyone he had to deal with cruelly, he could never look her in the eye.

 

She was the repository of all of the children harmed while they were entrusted to his care. She knew it all.  The letter he’d written to her was one of the very few that contained his apologies and excuses. He was entirely prepared to render them to her in person if she would only come to see him. He was not equal to a visit to the castle just yet.

 

What a revelation it was, when she greeted him with happy tears, her wrinkled, age-softened hands cupping his cheeks with evident fondness. “My dear boy, I knew it couldn’t be true. How proud I am of you, so very proud.” He wept then, like the boy she once knew so very long ago. He’d no idea that he was still capable of such emotion. As the Mediwitch left, securing promises of regular visits for tea, he found that he felt better then he had in years. Dear, sweet, Poppy Pomfrey always knew how to make it better and he was certain that there wasn’t a more deserving nurse in all of the land. What a difference compared to Granger.

 

Lucius and Draco came to find him around three.

 

“We have a mission and neither of us will take no for an answer, so don’t bother, Severus.” Lucius was dressed to go out, gloves in hand. He rarely wore black, and privately Severus thought that Azkaban must have sapped his fondness for any grittier shade of grey.

 

Draco’s grin alarmed Severus, but when he leaned in, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Your jailor has gone out on errands, so we are going too. We’ll be back before she knows it. I’ve finagled things with Poddy.”

 

Sitting up, Severus looked himself over. He was dressed in the simple soft jumper and trousers that clothed his recovery. “I don’t know if I have anything appropriate. Where are we going?”

 

Lucius arched a brow. “As if I don’t know every article in your closet, Severus. We’ll start at a tailor first, and if there is time, perhaps we might stop elsewhere.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Draco whispered. “We’ll have to work on the old man. He’s very little fun to be around these days.”

 

Severus was of two minds. First, he’d love to get out of the house and the temptation of it being a way to piss off Granger was almost too much to pass up.

 

Second, he never enjoyed clothes shopping. His former wardrobe should have been a testament to that. He found a suit whose cut he liked for his work, which he did seven days a week, and his Death Eater uniform was generously provided by Lord Voldemort himself. Add to that a few pieces meant for formal occasions, and that was the limit. Sure, he had a few clothes left over from his time spent with his family in Cokesworth, but they weren’t even a possibility.  “Can’t I just send in measurements?”

 

Draco rubbed his hands together in glee. “There’s an idea. I can pick things out for you and you won’t have to make a single decision. You know I have excellent taste.”

 

While this may be true, today Draco wore a very odd combination of clothes. Under a tailored blue suit jacket he wore a jersey shirt with a hood and the logo, “Hollyhead Harpies,”  emblazoned across the chest. Darkwash jeans that were fitted entirely too tight for his liking ended inexplicably short, and Draco’s anklebone stuck out as he wore no socks, only a pair of loafers. His hair was spiked upwards in what Severus sincerely hoped was not fashioned after Potter’s old look. Even Potter had abandoned that one.

 

Lucius snorted in derision. “You look ridiculous.”

 

“What? Just because you don’t understand fashion, Father, doesn’t mean I look bad. It is a combination of tailoring and comfort, you see. All the rage.” He picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his lapel.

 

Severus understood what was happening here. He was being manipulated. The question was, would he allow it? “If I go, will I get an ice cream?” He kept any hint of a smile away from his lips, as that would ruin the effect.

 

Lucius pulled on his gloves, correctly interpreting the jibe. “Come on then. Before Draco busts out a move, as the kids say.”

 

Draco found that to be particularly amusing and he laughed all of the way to Twillings and Tattings.

 

* * *

 

The following morning was Friday. Hermione was anxiously going over the arrangements that needed to be in place for Severus’ care. She planned on taking a sorely needed vacation: two days and a night away from the cottage. Luna and Romana had invited her to go to Liverpool with them, with grand plans of sampling the delights a city had to offer a lady. Pampering, shopping, dining, wining, and dancing - all were on the menu.

 

Romana was right, the idea of letting one’s hair down in a place where one wasn’t known was a charming idea. She’d been bottling up all her anger and amusement, along with a disturbing amount of sexual tension and she was fit to burst. She thought she was far enough along that she would even have a go at some karaoke. Strength in numbers, courage in anonymity. That’s the ticket.

 

She expected that Professor Snape would take the news of her impending absence well, as he’d been referring to her as his jailor when he thought she couldn’t hear him. It was juvenile, perhaps, but she’d been called worse.

 

“I’ll be out of town tomorrow and Sunday, and expect to be back Sunday night. While I am gone, Madam Pomfrey has kindly consented to look in on you. If anything happens, or if she has any question about the care plan that is not adequately answered in the documentation I have prepared, then she knows how to reach me. I shall be available to you for emergencies.”

 

Her patient was in his usual position at the table by the window, sipping tea. He’d folded the newspaper and the scowl he wore was a shade deeper than his usual. Something else was different. Was… was Snape wearing a colour? She blinked a few times, doubting the evidence of her own eyes.

 

“Do I get a few days off from being injured, then too?” If spoken in a lighter tone, it might have been amusing. The bitter edge to the question put her on her guard. At least he was speaking to her.

 

Forcing a smile, she answered, “If I could give any patient time off from being ill, I would. Imagine what a boon that would be to a wizard suffering from Dragon Pox or Scrofungulus.”

 

“Indeed.” He dropped the paper on the table. “So am I to go to Madam Pomfrey, or will she have time to attend me here?”

 

“She has consented to come here, the House Elves will transport her.” She paused, and then added, “You are well enough, that if you wished, it would be safe for you to leave the house on short excursions. I caution you against too much exertion, but am confident that you will fare well enough.”

 

Snape looked up at her, as she had not asked to take a seat this time. “You are loosening your hold on my leash, then? That’s good of you. Without even casting a round of diagnostics, even.”

 

Hermione let out a long, controlled exhalation, counting to ten in Mandarin. When she trusted herself to speak, she indulged him with a lecture. “As you know, a Healer should not be entirely reliant on magic to determine the wellbeing of her patients. Your colour is good, your eyes are bright, and you are well groomed. In addition to the attempt at what I must assume is innocent dissimulation, the photo of you on the front page of the paper, having been seen in Diagon Alley is ample evidence that you are ready.” There, she thought to herself. With everything in the open, there would be no need for tiptoeing about landmines of bad behaviour.  

 

A grimace spread on Snape’s lips, and the wicked glint in his eye confirmed to her that he’d taken delight in slipping his leash last night. Very much so. “I was promised ice cream.”

 

“And so you got it. What flavour was that? I didn’t recognize it.” The picture showed him licking the cone as he walked down the street with Draco and Lucius.

 

She didn’t think he was going to answer her, but she was pleasantly surprised. “Peanut butter and marmalade.”

 

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” The press was going wild over such a humanizing picture, and if Hermione had thought it was done on purpose, she would have been rather impressed at the execution of such an orchestration. She unpacked her bag, readying for the dressing change.

 

“What would you have selected?” He actually sounded interested, which was a nice turnabout from snappish petulance.

 

As Hermione opened her mouth to answer, she recalled her purpose in being here, and it wasn’t to be chummy. Still, he’d been frank with her, a single personal detail would not cross the line, she supposed. He’d known her since she was 11 for Merlin’s sake. What’s one little vice shared between acquaintances? “Malbec with roasted cherries and dark chocolate. They only get it in once a year.”

 

“Hmm.” It looked like he’d not tried it, but she very much doubted that it was on the menu over a decade ago. Fortescue’s was attacked in that last year, and the family worked very hard to reinvent the business. Mr Fortescue died of a heart condition some years back, caused by the long-lasting effects of his ordeal but he’d asked his children to keep the joy alive as a monument of defiance against black times. “Evil must not win. Laugh, eat, and live on!” It was a fitting epitaph.

 

Much that had been damaged by the war was rebuilt, but the marks were still there. Much like those on Snape’s neck, or her own scars for that matter.

 

Not asking, she pulled out a chair and pushed the phials of potions towards him. “Today will be the last of the antivenom. The fortifier you will need for a while yet.”

 

“I’d like to forgo the pain potion today if you don’t mind.”

 

She thought it was worth trying, although she expected it would still hurt quite a lot. If it weren’t in such an awkward place, he probably could take over the bandage changes himself. “As you like.”

 

As she took out poultice, bowl and sponges, she planned her angle of approach. It was much easier for her when he was laying down. She didn’t have to get too close, but with him feeling better, they’d taken to doing the changes wherever he happened to be. “Would you like to look today?”

 

Professor Snape inclined his head, perhaps considering the offer in a favourable light. “That would be agreeable. To the lav, then?” He stood and picked up his chair, waiting for her to proceed him.

 

As she approached the bathroom, she had a growing sense of anxiety. She wanted to suggest a chaperone, but if he refused all of this time, and she’d not asked, he’d know that she was uncomfortable. And that was the last thing she wanted to convey. She thought to herself, You can do this. He’s a patient. It is okay to be affected, you just won’t express or act on those feelings. You can fucking do this, Granger. He’s a bloody patient.

 

She caught herself staring as he pulled off his jumper and situated himself in the chair. He moved his neck about experimentally. Her eyes were drawn to the improvements that they’d managed. His frame was filling out again, only a hint of his ribs visible. Before she could offer, he pulled his own hair back and tied it off. A pang of loss wiggled its way through her carefully staid professionalism, an unworthy feeling.  

 

Shoving it aside, she advanced on the wound, using fingers to release the winding bandage instead of magic. It was an indulgence on her own part, but she told herself that patients often preferred a soft touch. As the poultice came away, she hummed in approval. “Looking very good, sir.” The skin underneath was nearly closed. The new tissue was still quite pink, but it was healthy and showed no sign of inflammation. She stepped back, so as to get out of way so he could see.

 

Snape stretched his neck to the side and then tipped his head upwards, examining the effect. She drank in the sight of him, heart lifting at how well he looked. Self-conscious, she concentrated, taking a memory of it for later before averting her eyes. It would not do to be caught taking too much of an interest.  

 

“Right. Do I need the bandages?”

 

It was a good question. She stepped closer, leaning in to examine the sheerlines where the scar would be under the greatest amount of strain. “Well, I think that tomorrow you will be able to go without, but a less extensive bandage will work today. You still need the poultice. I have an ointment that you can start using tomorrow instead to prevent adhesions and lessen the scarring.”

 

Rather than step around him, she leaned across to pluck up the pot of green goo from the counter. As she straightened back up she started to lose her balance.

 

Snape caught her about the waist in one arm as she wobbled away in a confused bid not to fall onto him. “ _Hermione_!” He had very good reflexes. “Are you quite well?”

 

Mortified, Hermione straightened. “I’m sorry, sir. Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” After checking her footing, he let go.

 

The rest of the visit passed by her in a blur. He asked her a few questions, but she was too flustered to provide answers of more than a few words. She managed to get the wound packed and treated with a smaller bandage without any further accidents and then she left the room when his back was turned to pull his definitely not-black jumper back on. It was a rich maroon colour and likely cashmere, the soft knit entirely too inviting. He kept his hair back, and therefore he seemed like quite a different person. She stole another glance at his retreating form, and as he moved the chair back to its place, she felt the injustice of the situation. He was a wizard that she already respected and admired, he smelled like her Amortentia, and then he had to go and transform from the buttoned-up Professor she knew to this? And to top it all off, he was completely out of bounds. _Unfair._  

 

Well, at least she only had to deal with the dressing one more time tonight. Surely her heart could handle that. She finished packing, deciding to take the chart back to her room rather than sit here to finish it. Ready to bid Snape adieu, she cleared her throat. “Seven O’Clock tonight still works for you?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“Right-o. See you then. Have a good day, Professor Snape.” She was stepping backwards, putting distance between them already.

 

There was a hint of bewilderment in his tone when he answered, “And you, Healer Granger.”

 

She couldn’t handle staying in that room any longer and was out the door as quickly as she could manage without tripping over her own feet. What would the sorting hat say of her now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the diligent [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and the daring [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by my friend who is laid up, [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and an unfortunate frequent tonsillitis victim, [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> 


	11. Chapter 9: It's All Fine By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I'm taking a bit of time to clean up the last chapters and introduce a few things that I wanted to add the first time around but ran out of time. The story is complete, but you might see an epilogue and even an extra chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for your support and comments. I get a lovely warm fuzzy feeling every time I see a new one! ~ FL

  
  


 

 

Chapter 9:  It’s All Fine By Me

  
  


Packed and ready to go, Hermione stood waiting in the entrance hall. The last bandage change went well, and she’d convinced Romana and Luna to head to Liverpool a night early. She’d borrowed a communication mirror to allow quick consultation if needed as she wasn’t certain Madam Pomfrey was equal to performing a Patronus under pressure. 

 

She’d decided to wear a little black dress, which should suit wherever they headed. Sheer silk gathered at each shoulder and crossed below her breast to hug her waist before flaring back out at her hips. The hem was scandalously short in the front, so much so that she’d heard that no woman over the age of 35 ought to be seen in it. She wasn’t that old yet, but being a witch had advantages, such as the sticking charms that prevented the sheer material from slipping to reveal more than she intended. She loved this dress because it made her feel like one of the Grecian Goddesses, her hair up in complicated braiding that allowed her curls to hang just so. She’d taken advantage of new cosmetics to bring her Gryffindor pride to the forefront, with her own version of the smoky eye in burgundy, her brow and cheeks subtly dusted in gold. It being the depths of winter, she chose a pair of black leather high heeled boots, charmed for comfort. Her handbag contained everything she needed for the weekend. 

 

Voices above drew her attention as she waited,  fidgeting. She was excited to go out - it was too long since she’d last gone clubbing. The escape from responsibility was quite welcome, and the makeup and dress were most likely enough of a disguise. No one would recognise her, except perhaps her own Mother, and there was little danger of that. 

 

The silhouette that appeared didn’t belong to the expected attendant. Professor Snape ambled into view and stopped at the top of the stair, looking down at her. She couldn’t see his face clearly, for the light behind him was brighter than the dimly lit front hall. 

 

“Is that you, Healer Granger?” 

 

“I’m off duty, sir.” It was not comfortable to hold a conversation with him so high above her. 

 

A pause preceded his next comment, making her wonder what he must be thinking. “Aren’t you starting out rather late?” 

 

“Tempted to take points, sir?” She tilted her head. “No, I think not. You prefer detentions.” 

 

Smiling crookedly, Professor Snape descended the stair to meet her. He maintained eye contact, and Hermione’s heart stuttered in confused excitement as she felt the weight of the man’s singular, intense attention. “You and your friends never seemed much affected by point deductions.” 

 

She lifted a shoulder. “What you took I usually made up for in other classes.” 

 

As he joined her on the ground floor, she decided that it was unfair that he was so much taller than her, in spite of the heels. She missed her uniform at that moment; this is not what she would ever consider wearing around a patient. Or a teacher. It would be wicked to want to be noticed by such company.  

 

The Professor’s nostrils flared as he took a sniff, sampling the air from respectable yard away. “Mitsouko?” 

 

Good lord! His sense of smell was that good? Blushing, Hermione looked past the Professor’s shoulder and wished that Luna and Romana would hurry up. “Yes. It was a Christmas gift from my Mum.” 

 

“She has good taste.” He didn’t give Hermione much of a chance to respond, following up with another question, “And where are you going?” 

 

Hermione had a list of clubs that were vetted for her by Teddy Lupin, since he was a dedicated club aficionado. She wasn’t about to tell Snape any of it. “Oh. Just out.” She bristled. Who did he think he was, anyway? “With the girls.” 

 

As if on cue, Romana and Luna rushed down the stairs, both smiling. They looked wonderful, although they’d both worn colour, making her feel a bit of a crow. Luna looked like a sylph, shining and pearlescent in a fluttering scarf dress of white. Romana wore a long-sleeved peacock blue sheath of stretch lace, fashioned so that the admirer might get a glimpse of perfect skin while all of the essentials were artfully camouflaged by the floral design. 

 

Forgetting her impertinent company, she threw her arms wide and exclaimed, “Don’t you both look perfect!” 

 

Romana accepted Hermione’s hug with air kisses, while Luna stood back to admire her in turn, letting out a low whistle. “Damn, Hermione!” 

 

Laughing, Hermione let go of Romana and gave Luna a hug. “Right. We’re all here. Shall we set off?” 

 

An unexpected male drawl interrupted Hermione. “Just a moment, it’s my turn to be admired.” Draco had joined them and spun for the ladies’ approval. He’d put in an effort, a crisp white shirt covered over with a silk evergreen jacket and tightly fitting trousers, whose colour Hermione didn’t want to note in case of being accused of caring.

 

“Yes. Yes, we know, Draco. You’re a stunning example of a wizard.” Crossing her arms across her chest, she commented wryly,  “One of the girls tonight, are we?” 

 

Tucking his hands into his pockets, young Malfoy smirked, knowing full well that Hermione hadn’t expected him to come along. “Thank you, Hermione. It is lovely to see you as well. I thought I’d come out with you ladies. Care for a knight to guard your virtues?” 

 

Luna’s tinkling laughter was unnaturally loud. “Oh, very funny!” She stepped over to his side and tucked a hand in his left elbow. “Hermione, he thinks we need guarding.” 

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. And here she’d hoped for a relaxing night. “Were there any masquerade themes? Carnival, perhaps?” 

 

“Oh, I do love fancy dress parties!” Romana bounced in her delight. She had more curves than the Stelvio Pass. Stepping up to take Draco’s right arm, she went up on tiptoe, planting a kiss on his perfectly chiseled alabaster cheek. 

 

Draco’s eyes softened in pleasure. 

 

Trying to not be nauseated by the display, Hermione glanced at Severus, wondering if he’d already guessed her punch line. His eyes were hooded, watching the party with silent interest. 

 

“I wouldn’t have to look at that smug face all evening, and that’d be fine by me.” Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder as she pushed the door open, letting in a gust of cold Scottish night air. 

 

Draco looked Hermione up and down, taking blatant liberties with his eyes on her person. “I’ve been told my face isn’t my best feature. Hard to believe, I know. Be good, Granger, and I might let you see more.” 

 

Hermione sensed a dark tension flowing into Snape, and a glance confirmed that the wizard was shifting from affable to offronted. She had to take care of Draco before it went any farther. “Stop eyefucking me, asshole.”  She hoped Snape understood she wasn’t talking to him, although it was difficult to determine with his mask-like expression. 

 

Luna chipped in playfully, “Hermione, you should learn to take a compliment.” 

 

“I might if I were offered one. That was self-serving drivel. Pathetic.” She pointed a finger at Draco who was opening his mouth in an unwise attempt to retaliate, “Enough out of you. Any more sass, Draco, and you’ll be singing Soprano. Let’s go.” Time to get moving.

 

Romana laughed, “Oh that I’d want to see. Would it last for karaoke tomorrow?” 

 

Thinking himself quite the comedian, Draco started to move his lips as though he were answering, but no sound came out. 

 

“I am not sure that this is an improvement, Hermione.” Luna wasn’t impressed, but Romana giggled obligingly. 

 

Hermione smiled winningly at Draco. “Miles better, trust me.”  

 

Draco led his ladies to the door with a haughty sneer. 

 

Pausing as the others passed through before her, Hermione nodded to Professor Snape and offered him a real smile. “Have a pleasant evening, sir. Don’t wait up!” Not waiting for a reply, she slipped out into the waiting cold. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Lucius looked up as Severus entered the study, and it was immediately evident that he was upset about something. “Something amiss?” 

 

“Your son.” Tall and brooding, Severus walked over to the fireplace and as he leaned against the mantel, he blocked the light just like a stormcloud. 

 

Closing his book with a snap, Lucius waited for the rest of the explanation. His friend must be truly angry, as he was an eloquent man. Never at a loss for words. 

 

“- Is a cad.” Severus turned an accusatory glare on Lucius, as if it were his responsibility. 

 

So Draco succeeded in his plan. “What has he done now?” He knew his son, so he had a rather good idea.

 

Severus snorted. “He’s gone out with the ladies, against Healer Granger’s clearly stated preferences.” 

 

“That isn’t out of character. He rejoices in irritating her, and the angrier she is by the end of the evening, the more delighted he will be. I suspect he might be trying to get hurt. I’m afraid he’s a masochist.” 

 

Shaking his head, Severus turned to him. “I am amazed she hasn’t hexed his bollocks to the moon.” 

 

“That’s a real curse?” Amused, Lucius wondered what it would be like to get moon-dusted bollocks back after such a trip, or if the Healer would be obliged to regrow them. 

 

His friend seemed cheered by the idea too. “It will be if Draco doesn’t leave Granger alone.” 

 

“She has a mean right hook too, but as I said already, he is almost definitely a masochist.” 

 

Snape took in the statement and there was another stretch of silence before he asked, “What of Mrs Scamander?” 

 

Lucius rubbed his palms together as he considered the question. “I am not certain what you mean.” 

 

“You seem to be enamoured of her charms, or is it your intention to step aside in favour of Draco?” 

 

Stricken, Lucius wondered what Severus saw that he did not. He had not considered his son as competition. “Mrs Scamander is a delightful woman.” 

 

“She does seem unaccountably fond of you.” Snape was looking at him, and his vision was entirely too clear for Lucius’ liking. Was he using Legilimency? Or just reminding him that he could. Smarmy bastard. 

 

Fine, if he wanted to know, Lucius would tell him. “Was there ever a more innocent spirit, or one more gentle?” There was no danger of her hearing. 

 

Severus pushed off from the mantle and approached the lounge chair. “I wouldn’t know, but Lucius, be honest with me. Does she know how you feel? Have you openly expressed this admiration?” 

 

Lucius sat up straighter. “Why? I cannot formally court her.” He would do it in a heartbeat if it were proper.  As it stood, he could not be considered socially acceptable company for such a woman. Doubly true if it became known he was wooing her while she stayed with them in the cottage.  

 

“And yet you’ve not allowed her out of your sight until this evening. Don’t tell me you stayed behind in deference to my invalidity? I assure you I am capable of putting myself to bed.” 

 

“I thought she’d prefer to enjoy the time with her friends.” Lucius did want her to be happy. He’d just be in the way, wouldn’t he?

 

“Draco, you’ll notice, had no qualms about butting in.  What is more, for his boldness, he left the house with both Dr Lundar and Mrs Scamander on his arms, while he… how did she put it?” Severus stopped to laugh, before continuing his explanation, “Granger has talent for the colloquial turn of phrase. He ‘eyefucked’ her in a most unwelcome manner.” 

 

Lucius knew Granger would never say such a thing if there weren’t a grain of truth to it. “I hope you are joking.” 

 

“Certainly not. Those were her words. Now, the way I see it, we could either sit here and wait until Sunday to see what happens, or we join them to even out the odds.” 

 

“That only seems polite, doesn’t it?” Lucius controlled an impulse to grab a broom and fly after them. 

 

Severus sounded pleased with himself. “Very proper. She is a guest in your home.” 

 

“Right.” Lucius pushed off from his chair, looking down at his robes. One could practically hear him sorting through his wardrobe in his mind, the wooden hangers clacking with rapid alacrity. 

 

“And Lucius?” 

 

Lucius paused, looking at Severus. 

 

“Consider loosening up a trifle. Ask her out on a date. If you truly wish to pursue her, then show more of what you feel, not less. She is unique.”       
  


A genuine smile warmed Lucius’ eyes. “Thanks. It is good to have you back, Severus.” 

 

“Right. Off you go. Mrs Scamander was wearing white silk with feathers in her hair. In case you were interested.” 

  
  


* * *

 

Never Ever Land was aptly named. Hermione, within the first hour, had determined that she was never ever coming back. It wasn’t all bad, but she probably should have suggested a smaller venue for the first stop of the night. 

 

She could have taken a cheering solution before she left, but she didn’t think of it.  Scouser lads were as pretty to look at as Luna said they were, and a few even had pleasant manners.  She was out of practice in interacting with strangers and as a consequence she felt obliged to take a drink every time she was tempted to hex someone.

 

She made an exception for the bloke who did try to slip something into her cup. She gifted him with a darling little curse that would cause testicle-crushing pain any time he looked at a woman with sinful thoughts on his mind. The first ear-curdling wail of pain could just be heard over the techno-beat of “Scream and Shout.” It did much to improve Hermione’s mood.  _ Bring the action.  _

 

“Hermione, you must do this next one with us!” Romana was pulling on Hermione’s arm. “It was my special request. Come, come, I insist. You need to get out here.” 

 

Knocking back the rest of the cider first, Hermione let her friend pull her out on the dance floor as the familiar strains of a 1970s cult film favourite started to play, causing a wave of cheers to rise up about the room. And of course, Romana knew all of the words by heart. So did Draco. 

 

_“It is astounding;_

_ Time is fleeting; _

_Madness takes its toll.”_

 

Hermione rather thought they’d make a lovely Riff Raff and Magenta. As she joined in with just a jump to the left, her mind amused itself with imagining the rest of their little company fitting into the cast. None of them really had the stage presence for Frank N Furter, although she supposed Harry might pull it off if he were there. 

 

“Snape!” A voice was calling to her. She assumed it was her own thoughts trying to fill the parts. 

 

Yes. If he decided he wanted the part, he’d do nicely. But the idea was ridiculous. “No, he’d never agree.” 

 

“Looks like he has, Grangey-cakes.” That wasn’t her voice. It was Draco next to her, pulling his knees in tight. 

 

Romana sang, “ _In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention…_ ” 

 

“You’re taking the mick.” She didn’t believe it for one second. There was NO way that Severus Snape would be caught out in a Muggle dance club.    
  


Draco sang, “ _With a bit of a mind flip_.” 

 

“ _You’re into the time slip!_ ” Romana was really into it. 

 

“ _And nothing can ever be the same._ ” Draco jumped, looking about. 

 

Romana pouted at Draco, “ _You’re spaced out on sensation?_ ” 

 

Finding the man, he mouthed, “Looks like him to me.”  He was pointing so vigorously that Hermione was worried that the bloke would notice them. “ _Like you’re under sedation!_ ” 

 

“It can’t be Snape.” Hermione was dead certain there could be no chance that her patient would have followed her there. Nor would he have been wearing a royal blue silk shirt unbuttoned, or… good Godric.  _ Leather trousers.  _

 

Luna had a hang of the pelvic thrust now, “ _Let’s do the Time Warp again!_ ” 

 

“I dare you to ask him to dance.” Draco was in Hermione’s space now, close enough to be heard without shouting. 

 

“You’re completely mental.” Hermione was feeling strangely drawn to the man, she couldn’t look away. 

 

Draco taunted her with a leer. “At least I’m not a scaredy cat. Merlin’s rod, witch! Are you a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?” 

 

She pushed Draco, trying to encourage him to go away. “That is complete shite, Draco, and you know it. Now, shove off.” 

 

He wasn’t having it, using his strength to resist her as he bent to speak directly into her ear.  “Look. Here’s what you do. You stalk over there, turning on all of your witchy charm. Do that, and you won’t need to get his attention, you’ll already have it, trust me.” 

 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco kept going, “Shush now, I’m talking. Next, you ask him to dance. It will make his night, the lucky fucker. Have a little fun, love. What have you got to lose, eh?” 

 

Hermione stood, chewing on a nail, watching her prey. The bloke had a dangerous aura about him, and he managed to pull off guyliner. Perhaps it was the aquiline nose that made him look like Snape. There wasn’t a bandage about his neck, or any scar. A shove at her back caught her unprepared. “Go on. Go get him, girl.” 

 

The music shifted, and she let the drum beat take her. Before she realised she’d started she was in the middle of it. Draco was right, it was easy to get his attention. 

 

Almost as soon as she started to walk towards him, working her hips in a way that her boots made look ten times sexier, he locked eyes with her. He made no move to escape, one eyebrow lifting in silent query as if to say, “Who, me?”

 

She didn’t want to shout, so instead she licked her upper lip slowly and extended a hand of invitation. The man’s eyes widened, and she fancied that she’d hit the mark as he accepted her hand. 

 

“ _Love is like a bomb, baby… c’mon get it..._ ” She knew this one, so she sang along as she pulled him onto the dance floor. At first he was slow to respond, but by the time they got to “ _Sometime, Anytime, Sugar me sweet…_ ” He’d caught on. By the end of the first verse, he was anticipating her moves, and had managed to impose a more structured framework. She had no idea what the dance was called, but she liked it. Draco was right, she needed this. 

 

A crowd favourite, everyone jumped and clapped in time to the driving beat, joining in on the chorus. 

 

During the instrumental Hermione mouthed, “Have you a name?” It was too loud. 

 

“Eh ere?” He shouted in a parody of an elderly man, one hand behind his ear.

 

She stretched up on her toes, closing the distance between her lips and his ear, “Name? I’m Hermione!” 

 

“Ah, now then. Toby’ll do.” He spoke with a deep, velvety baritone. She loved it instantly. 

 

“You are a quiet one.” He spoke into her ear, rocking her along to the song. She’d been preoccupied with his masculine nearness and what it was doing to her. The whisper of his breath sent a shiver down her back. 

 

What kind of conversational gambit was that? “Mmm.” She’d no practice in picking up men, nor was she sure what exactly to do with one in his situation. She wasn’t a blushing virgin, but Hermione Granger had never picked up a man in a club. Yet.

 

As if aware of her awkwardness, Toby prompted her teasingly. “Innit proper to have a chat?” 

 

When she didn’t answer immediately, he went on listing topics. “Fashion, music, drinks, football, em… not politics or church. Have your pick, duck.” 

 

When she looked at him in consternation, he shrugged, “Just being friendly.”

 

Moving to a thinner part of the crowd, he’d hooked an arm about her shoulders making it easy to speak in his ear when she did think of something to ask. “Did you come with friends, Toby?” Why did he smell so good? 

 

“Only the one and he’s gone off.” His dark eyes flashed as he scanned the dance floor, looking for someone in particular. “Buzzin ta meet his bird. She came ahead, see.” 

 

“Oh.”  She was cheered to learn he wasn’t there with a girlfriend of his own. All alone, poor fellow. 

 

He turned those sharp eyes back to her. “Yourself?” 

 

“Some mates from school.” She could see Luna’s white fluttering form dancing beside a tall man of her own, all in white. She was getting rather familiar with him. Hermione watched in fascination, wondering if that was the alcohol or pure Luna. 

 

Toby spoke, bringing her back to what she was doing. “Ow old are you then? Nineteen?” He didn’t seem serious, but it stung. 

 

She wagged a finger at him, “Never ask a lady her age. Where’s your manners?” 

 

“Back at Eton, sweetheart.” His grin was as charming as it was unrepentant, but he still was a pillock, bold as brass. 

 

For extra measure, she turned her back to Toby. A guitar solo inspired her to roll her hips in a sequence she’d picked up that time Ginny had convinced her to take belly dancing lessons. Hermione secretly loved the dancing, but she couldn’t get past the misogynistic history surrounding the practice. At this moment she was not above using it to her advantage. Pour some sugar on this, Toby. 

 

It did shut him up for another verse and chorus, and she did not move away when he placed a hand on her hip. 

 

The music continued on in the background, the crowd pulsing in time with the beat.  “ _You’ve got the peaches, I’ve got the cream…_ ” 

 

Toby hooted across the floor, calling, “Luc, m’cock!” 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione thought she saw the man dancing with Luna straighten, raising a hand in acknowledgement. 

  
  


“Who?” Hermione’s mind, swimming in alcohol, shied away from the obvious. 

 

Toby twirled her back around, and she lost sight of them. “What’s that love?” 

 

She jerked her head in the general direction. “That bloke dancing with my friend in the white. You know him?” 

 

“Nah, just thought I did.  Don’ fash yer pretty head.” He pulled her in closer, swaying his hips along with the music, with considerable natural talent or perhaps practised skill. Hermione decided that it didn’t matter. He was getting into the song. Pity it was nearly over. 

 

Hermione lapsed into silence, focusing on the music, the dance, and the man there with her. 

 

As the song came to its conclusion, Toby offered to buy her a drink and Hermione let him. 

 

They stood at the bar, and now that he wasn’t so very close she started to think more clearly. “I need to go check on my friend. Will you be around much longer? I enjoyed your company.” 

 

“Could be, don’t know just yet. Can I get your number?” He passed her the cider she’d asked for. 

 

A number? It took a moment for her to catch on to his meaning. “Oh, sorry. Don’t have one. Work would never leave me be if I carried a phone, so I don’t.”  

 

Toby’s eyes, which she’d discovered were a dark, nearly black shade of brown, stared at her, as if trying to communicate something with telepathy. “Well then, tra fer a bit.” 

 

Reluctant to go, she stretched her neck and pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks for the drink, Toby. It was lovely to meet you.” 

 

As she walked away, she looked over her shoulder, marking his position. The farther she walked away from Toby, the harder it was to keep going, as though some sort of elastic connection stretched betwixt the two of them, trying to keep them together. She fancied it was the force of primal attraction. 

 

Watching from his position at the bar, Toby winked at her. An electric wave washed over her, all the way down to the soles of her feet. No one ever winked at her, unless you counted the extremely old men she encountered at work. 

 

Who the hell was this man? And why the fuck didn’t she have a mobile? 

  
  


Her friends were gathered together several yards away, and to her surprise, Lucius Malfoy had belatedly decided to join the group, citing a desire to show Draco how one treats ladies properly when they’re out for a night on the town. He did so with panache and unaffected attention to all of them, not just Luna. 

 

Hermione did agree to dance with Lucius Malfoy. Any wizard of that age had absolutely no right to look that good in white vinyl and to his credit, he, unlike Toby, was a perfect gentleman.  

 

When she looked for him, Toby was nowhere to be found. 

  
  


* * *

 

Toby stared at his glamoured self in the mirror back at the cottage, feeling heartily ashamed of himself. He’d thought to check on Granger, but had no particular designs on anything more ambitious than observation. How was it that she’d picked him out of a crowd of people? Was she drawn to tall, dark, and snarky? 

 

Careless of who might hear, he groaned in frustration. “Bloody hell!” 

 

He’d told himself that he was staying in character when she’d started to flirt with him. Toby, lad about town, would have no qualms flirting back. He’d have delighted in the forward way she danced with him. Toby even asked for her  _ number _ . 

 

Severus let himself hate Toby. 

 

“Wanker!” With a careless swipe, he banished the glamour and the undeserving whelp was gone from his sight with a shimmer of violet light. 

 

Feeling little better, he shucked out of the dragon-hide pants and cobalt blue silk shirt, leaving both on the floor in favor of lounge pants and a robe. As he left the bathroom, it occurred to him that Draco was the one who’d insisted on those specific purchases. 

 

Had his Godson manipulated him so artfully? And if so, why? 

 

Probably for his own amusement. 

 

Sighing, Severus took up the real estate notices that were delivered to his room earlier that day. He really needed to get his own space. Before he was pushed so far that he helped Granger kill his Godson. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he allowed his thoughts to follow the more pleasant occupation of plotting revenge, “Just a mild curse? Seems fair.” 

 

Tomorrow he anticipated Lucius would still be taken up with the pursuit of happiness and Mrs Scamander, although not necessarily in that order. What else did Snape have to do besides find a place of his own, plan out his future, and plot revenge? 

 

As if to remind him, a pair of lovely  _ brown _ , intelligent eyes floated to the front of his mind’s eye. Ah yes. 

 

He needed to forget just how badly Toby wanted to do more than eyefuck Hermione Granger. 

 

Forget the feel of her perfect arse bumping against him, the softness of her in his arms as they rocked to the music, and the teasing look she fixed him with as she shimmied her hips. 

 

Forget the naked lust in Hermione’s eyes as she asked him so prettily to dance. 

 

“I’m so fucked.”

  
  


* * *

 

Hermione woke the next morning (although it only barely qualified as morning) to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. A vial sat on her nightstand, each provided to them by Draco the previous night to take when they woke in the morning. It was Malfoy’s Morning-After Medicinal. He called it “Mam” for short. Really, if he could get a patent, the stuff would sell well if people would just give it a try. Unfortunately, he’d have to think of another name.

 

Flicking the cork free, Hermione downed the Mam and reflected that it could do with some work on the flavour too. Something in the mint family. Anything would be better than the fishy taste it currently possessed. How the vile tasting brew cured nausea, she had absolutely no idea. Still, the relief that it brought was almost enough to make Hermione forgive Draco for being a prat.

 

Voices attracted her notice on the other side of the door, laughing together. Hermione’s heart stopped as she realised just who was in the bathroom. Or more particularly, what they were doing without the common decency of utilizing a silencing charm. Or being drunk. 

 

A pair of white vinyl trousers were folded over an armchair in the corner. Their presence eroded away any doubt. 

 

Irritated, Hermione’s mind made up a melody in time to the thumping that was growing increasingly impossible to ignore. 

 

_ Luna and Lucius bonkin’ in the loo. R-E-N-D-Z-E-VOUS. _

 

_ Is there love?  _ Hermione hadn’t seen anything to suggest Mr Malfoy had anything more serious than a passing fancy for Luna. She started to feel her responsibility to her friend. She’d encountered the Malfoys because she wanted to help Hermione deal with the stress.

 

_ Will there be marriage?  _ Would Lucius want to marry Luna? To support her? She’d heard rumours of how much Narcissa received as her part of the divorce, and it was an obscene sum. Luna had no interest in material wealth, valuing the wonders of the world and its creatures and peoples far more. Lucius didn’t seem inclined to travel, and there was that gimpy hip of his, not to mention the spectre of his hateful crimes against the world. Luna was young and vibrant, not even in the prime of her life. 

 

_ Why can’t Luna crush on wizards who are safely average _ ?

 

Increasingly alarmed at the growing intensity of the pounding coming from the bathroom, Hermione hastily gathered her things. Clearly the hip couldn’t be that bad.  

 

She slipped into a long knit dress, wondering if Romana was awake. She needed to borrow her shower, and whatever was going on in her own bathroom demanded an emergency exit. Slipping out into the hall, she was appalled to find the international sign for ‘Go away, we’re shagging’ on Romana’s door. “He wasn’t even wearing a tie!” Slytherin colours. Fucking fantastic. 

 

Muttering darkly, Hermione stalked out of the hotel and made a beeline for the apparition point. How did she end up the fifth wheel - the fifth pent up frustrated wheel, mind you - at a girl’s weekend meant to ease her frustration? 

 

As soon as the thought popped into her mind, her anger began to fade as she felt the injustice of her rage with her girlfriends. Presumably, they were both pleasantly engaged in the very thing that they’d all looked for. A cuddle and a poke. Mind-blowing sex. She was a terrible friend for begrudging them the thing that she wanted too. 

 

And yet, she was still cheesed off with Lucius. What did he think he was doing? He couldn’t just do this to Luna, Hermione wouldn’t stand for it. Something would definitely have to be done. 

 

Were the mobile stores open on Saturdays? Maybe her Dad could go with her. There’s an idea. She’d have to check in with her friend at the Ministry, but she knew for a fact that they’d made progress on increasing the reliability of such things around magic. 

 

First, she needed a wash. Deflated and disappointed, she considered her options. She didn’t want to go back to the Cottage. She’d no reason to when the bathroom in her London flat was waiting for her, blissfully devoid of any devil-Malfoy spawn. She could soak in the bath for as long as she wanted in the privacy she craved. 

 

She might even have a nice wank, thanks to Toby. 

  
  


* * *

 

Father and son sat together in the Hotel Lobby, waiting for the ladies to join them. There may have been some measure of mutual embarrassment, but neither wanted to disturb their languor by broaching the subject.  

 

At last Romana and Luna stepped out of the elevator, arm in arm, smiles brightening their lovely faces. They’d dressed casually, planning on going out shopping before hitting up the spa. 

 

It was Draco who noticed first. “I suppose Hermione’s still getting ready? Or is she reading War and Peace?” 

 

Lucius frowned. “I thought she was with you, son.” 

 

Draco had the grace to blush, “She said she’d rather stay with Luna.” 

 

Head tilted back, Luna was looking upwards, as though she might be able to see through the ceiling and find her friend in that manner. “No, she isn’t there.” 

 

“Maybe she took another room?” Romana turned, “I shall go inquire.” 

 

Looking nervous, Draco stood up. “Maybe I should go check home.” 

 

“She isn’t with Toby, if that’s what you are wondering.” Lucius’ tone was flat. 

 

Draco froze, “Well, I wouldn’t think so.” He continued with an uncertain laugh, “I mean, honestly. Those two? She’d never look at him that way. And he’s never going to let go of Lily.” 

 

“Son, I sincerely hope that she never figures out what you did. I checked in with Severus late last night, and he didn’t think it was funny in the least. You have made things needlessly complicated.” 

 

“I really don’t see what the problem is here.”

 

Luna finally spoke. “Hermione loves Professor Snape. She doesn’t just want a shag. I thought it quite obvious, actually.”  You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that greeted this statement. 

 

“Are you quite sure, Luna?” Romana had returned in time to hear the pronouncement. 

 

A serene smile lit up the witch’s face. “Oh yes. She doesn’t know. Neither does he. It is beautiful to watch such a rare love grow.” 

 

“This isn’t beautiful! It is a disaster! She is too damned honourable to act on her feelings.” Draco was rubbing at his face in dismay. The scope of the mistakes he’d encouraged were starting to really dawn on him. 

 

“Oh, but isn’t that why you suggested she quit his case, Romana? I thought that was a good idea.” Luna was untroubled as they talked about her friend’s complicated love life. She could have easily been discussing another topic, one as safe as the weather.  

 

“I was just trying to solve the problem with her Wrackspurts. Or Nargles. Or… both.” Romana’s earnest face looked about the little company. “I did suspect something.” She shrugged, “What is there to do?” 

 

Lucius looked thoughtful. “Before last night I would not have believed it, but I think it is possible that Severus might be developing a partiality of his own for Healer Granger. He was quite concerned about your lack of tact and proper comportment, son. If not for your crass behaviour in the front hall, I don’t think he would have cooked up his little scheme to follow you as Toby.” 

 

Shamefaced, Draco shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

 

“It was a masterful display, Draco. It would be pointless to interfere any further. Magic is real, and so is their love. Let them discover it for themselves.” Luna’s serene countenance soothed her friend. 

 

Hermione rushed in through the front door, her hair partially escaping the messy ponytail she’d attempted to use as confinement. “Sorry to make you wait!” She smiled cheerfully at the assemblage. “I just popped back home for a moment.” 

 

There was too much silence after the statement, and Hermione’s face fell a fraction. “Is something wrong?” She looked sharply at Draco, “Have you heard anything from Professor Snape, or Madam Pomfrey?”

 

“No, Granger. Nothing’s wrong there.” Draco turned to his father. 

 

Lucius spoke up obligingly, “I checked on Severus last night. He was fine. I think he was looking forward to the quiet night. Kicked me back out.” 

 

The tension in Hermione’s face smoothed a fraction. “That sounds like him. Right, so. Shopping?” She looked at her watch. “We’ve that appointment at the spa in two hours. We should get going.” 

 

An expression of anxiety showed on Lucius’ face. “Right. I’ll catch you up in five minutes.” He was the only one sitting. “Where are you starting?” 

 

“Bold Street.” That was Draco, he had the itinerary all plotted out.  

 

Hermione held up an iPhone. It was shiny, new. “Have you a number?” 

 

“Joining the modern world, Granger?” 

 

“If you give out my number, I shall sign you up for so many porn sites that you won’t be able to move without getting a new notification.” 

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” 

 

Hermione planted her hands on her hips. “Are you honestly challenging me, buster?” 

 

“Whoa, whoa. No way. Here, that’s my number.” 

 

Hermione waved a hand to the rest. “Right, toddle off. I’ve something to settle here with the hotel. I’ll be right along.” 

 

As the other three stepped out into the light of the afternoon, Hermione watched them go before turning a glare on Lucius. “So.” 

 

Lucius had not yet moved to get up. “Yes, Healer Granger?” 

 

“How bad is it?” 

 

Eyebrows raising in surmise, Lucius grimaced. “Ah. So you...”    
  


Not having any sort of patience, she cut him off. There was no point in pretending she wasn’t pissed off with him. “I have ears that work as well as anyone else’s. That includes when her roommates forget to use a damned silencing charm. You really are something else. Can you even stand?” She used the same tone that she used once on an 11 year old Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley when she chided them for not being wider read. In short, her voice was grating. 

 

Wincing, Lucius shifted forwards. “It wasn’t this bad earlier.” 

 

“Of course not. It will only get worse as the day goes on. Here, take two of these, and this ampule.” She stood there, watching Lucius take the medications. “I’ll go and find us a brew. By the time we’re done sipping, you should be at least able to walk again. Honestly, it is a good thing your son stays in the potions lab. He’s so self-centred he almost needs a seeing-eye dog.”  

 

Lucius held up the vial in a salute to Hermione. “To your health and happiness, Miss Granger.” 

 

Waving away the courteous gesture, Hermione spun on her heel to go search out two cups of tea. 

  
  


* * *

 

Severus had a vision. Potions were his life’s passion, and now he had free rein to pursue his work. McGonagall had offered him a position on staff, begged him to come back as a teacher at the school whenever he liked. It meant a great deal to be asked, but Severus wasn’t certain that was what he wanted any longer. He had other ideas. New ideas that stretched well beyond surviving one more sunrise.  

 

He wanted a home in a quiet place in the country, one where he could have a greenhouse, and gardens in the warmer months. A place with a basement suitable for storing his ingredients, and enough space for his vision of a potions lab. A quantity of bookshelves, or sufficient wall space for them, was also a must. He’d found that he had access to plenty of funds, and had an eye towards purchasing something that could support itself in the longer run. He craved peace. 

 

The catalogue contained several properties that seemed likely, but he had a particular preference for ones in the south-east for their soil and growing seasons were most favourable. Tagging a few pages, he put out a request for an agent, and then made an appointment to visit Gringotts early in the coming week. His neck was doing well, although his voice tired and would become softer as the day wore on. 

 

He’d discovered that many of the catalogue companies prefer to use internet catalogues and ordering now. That meant he was going to have to buy a computer and obtain a mobile. 

 

It had nothing to do with Toby having a number. Or so he told himself. 

 

The next day Severus made his first trek to Hogwarts. It was a Sunday, and the students were quite taken up with their studies. He went up after breakfast with the intention of saving Madam Pomfrey the trip. He’d been obliged to meet with the Headmistress who handled herself well although he’d not been prepared to deal with Dumbledore. 

 

When word spread of his visit Dumbledore found Severus in the halls, and walked about through the paintings so there was no escaping the old Wizard. They’d already had it out before, there wasn’t much left to be said beyond, “Good on you. We did it.” 

 

He also had the misfortune of meeting the Potions teacher. She was everything Lucius and Draco had implied and worse: she was a dangerous combination of arrogance and incompetence that lent itself to propagating misinformation. Not only that, she valued her position well enough that she felt threatened by his presence in the school. Dreadful, almost Troll.

 

Depressed by what he saw, Severus returned to the Cottage to find it populated with people once more. A farewell dinner was planned for Dr Lundar. It was a pity to see her go. Draco did seem partial to her. 

 

When Granger came to see him that evening she was back in the trusses of a Healer’s formal robes. She did look good in them, but he found himself missing the short dress that he’d last seen her in. Without a bandage change, the visit was short, limited to a visual inspection and wand diagnostics. She discussed his ongoing vocal exercise plan and expectations for a return to a normal voice.  

 

Having done that, she took out a box that was stacked with vials. “Here are your doses of the fortifying potion that Draco developed for you. Take one a day until they are all finished.” She placed it in his hands and he thought she looked a trifle nervous. 

 

“You have come a long way, sir, and I’ve been very pleased to witness your return to health.” 

 

Severus detected the trappings of a well-rehearsed speech. “I am in your debt, Healer Granger.” 

 

“Nonsense, sir. You stuck out your neck so that the war could be won, and in so doing you saved the lives of all of the muggleborn witches and wizards in the UK. Truly. I should be thanking you a thousand times over.” Her eyes were bright with emotion, and he thought there was a faint quiver in her lower lip. 

 

Not really knowing what to say, he nodded once and left it at that. It was an odd turn of phrase -- she had a dry sense of humour. 

 

“I will be leaving tomorrow as well. You have progressed to the point where your needs will be admirably provided for by a mediwitch or general Healer, thankfully. I consider your case now closed. I can cover for urgent matters for the next week, but after that, you will need to engage another Healer’s services.”

 

Severus drummed his fingers on the table, wondering if her records on him now were best numbered in inches or pounds of parchment. “And my records?” 

 

“Will be transferred when you identify your new Healer, sir. I have written down a list of recommendations to ease your transition.” 

 

She pulled a slip of folded paper out of her breast pocket and passed it over to him. “I’ve also included my contact information, should any questions arise. My door is always open to you, sir.” 

 

He squinted at the tiny, neat print. Weren’t Healers supposed to have terrible handwriting?  “You’ve a mobile? I thought you wouldn’t want to be called at all hours.” 

 

Granger was genuinely confused, but answered, “I finally joined the modern world yesterday. My Dad took me out to purchase one while the others slept in. It was useful as a tool to stay in touch with the rest of our Liverpool party.”  

 

Enlightened, Severus felt a strange lurching in his stomach. From the outside, it was probably also a compliment to Toby. Who was not real. 

 

Hermione sat for a moment longer, and the air in the room seemed to thicken with the tension between them, one that Severus did not begin to understand. “Well, that’s it, I suppose. Tra fra bit.” 

 

“Of course.” Severus stood to shake hands with her and then walked her to the door with the usual wishes exchanged for a good evening. 

 

At last, It connected that she’d used that  _ particular  _ turn of phrase when she looked back over her shoulder at him with a small smile. She suspected. Did she know who Toby really was? And if she did… what did that smile mean? No, she’d never look at him that way. 

 

He closed the door, leaning his back against it. Intellectually, he knew he was well enough to do without her for stretches of time, but he didn’t like this leave-taking. He wasn’t expecting it, he was caught unprepared. 

 

It should be a happy moment for he didn’t need to be poked and prodded twice a day any longer. No more clucking or scolding, all because he was well. And yet, he felt like he had been let down. She’d tried to do it with courtesy. Alas, her kindness made the leavetaking sting all the worse. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Severus returned to the House on Monday to find a very melancholy scene. Lucius had spent the day by the fire in the parlour, smoking cigars. Draco was three sheets to the wind and far more articulate than his father. Add Draco’s selection of songs for the day and it made a disturbing scene. 

 

“W’re sad, Profisser.” Draco held up a glass to Severus, whether as an invitation or salute, Severus could not be certain. “Granger’s the worst. S’all her fault. Right, Toby?” 

 

It was difficult to get any sense out of his godson. The boy spewed a series of seemingly unconnected accusations of heartlessness interspersed with highly inappropriate abuse aimed at the Healer. Some things would never change. He worried that Draco was not going to make it in to work tomorrow. 

 

The way Lucius twitched anytime a log cracked in the fire was telling. He was waiting by the fire for  _ her _ to call. 

 

When Severus suggested intelligent plans for reaching out via magically assisted communication, it transpired that Lucius had already attempted everything within his power. Everything legal, that is. Luna had gone off without a word. 

 

What was worse, the man was stoically suppressing his distress and he’d not entertain the merest suggestion that she’d done him any wrong. “We had no understanding, Severus. I have nothing to reproach her with.” 

 

Neither wizard was any sort of company, and after an hour of attempting to cajole both of them into speech with him, he couldn’t stand it any longer and he took himself off to bed. 

  
  


* * *

 

That night Severus dreamed of Lily, but it wasn’t a lucid vision. He chased her through the rooms of his nightmares. School hallways painted with the blood of innocents, students torturing one another. Next she led him up to the Astronomy tower, and he flew after her when she gracefully fell over the edge. She was always just out of reach. Then he caught glimpses of her at the revel Voldemort held in Severus’ honour after he’d taken the dark mark. The detail with which he remembered every atrocity dressed up as delight twisted the knives of guilt into his soul a bit farther. 

 

The last place he found her was on the floor of the house in Godric’s Hollow. He’d watched helplessly as she fell to the floor, the light leaving her eyes. There wasn’t a crying baby. There was no Voldemort. Just Lily crumpled to the floor. Severus mourned her all over again, clinging to her cooling corpse in his arms. 

 

He woke alone, sober, and weeping in the early hours of the morning. 

  
  


* * *

 

Lucius hadn’t slept well. A pulled muscle in his groin from the past weekend wasn’t the only thing that pained him. Anguish caused by his separation from Luna was gnawing at the edges of his mind. 

 

He’d finally heard from Ginny Potter, who’d invited Luna to stay with her and Harry in London for the foreseeable future. She’d written that they were both very much taken up with raising money for and planning the events that were to lead up to the 15-year Anniversary War Memorial Ceremony to be held at Hogwarts, and that she doubted that Luna could be spared. 

 

As he stared in the mirror, hair wet from the shower, he studied the lines of his face. Luna had said he was the sort of wizard who aged like a fine wine, that he was gaining more character and depth. It may have been true, but without her, he felt like he was withering. Luna believed in him, or so he’d thought. 

 

There was no preordained plan for this week. He’d extended the invitation for her to stay as long as she liked, but she had to decline, as she was expected elsewhere. They’d not exchanged words. Neither had any claim on the other. There was nothing to resent. He had to find a way to go on, to try to be the wizard she’d admired. Perhaps in so doing, he might become worthy. 

 

Framing his plan in a positive light helped to dispel the paralyzation of bereavement that threatened to undo him. He got dressed and resolved to turn his thoughts back to helping Severus get back onto his feet. 

 

When Lucius came down to the dining room for breakfast, he found an overturned chair and a smoking pile of ash in the place where Severus usually sat. Light enough to fly up on the thermals created by the immolation, a scrap floated back down to the table nearby. There wasn’t much on it, enough to identify it as the typeset used by The Daily Prophet. 

 

“Sampson!” 

 

The butler appeared in the doorway and paled. “Sir! Are you injured?” He hurried over, setting the chair back on its feet.    
  


Lucius vanished the mess before he answered. “No. I require another copy of The Daily Prophet.” 

 

“Immediately, sir.” He was already retreating to act on Lucius’ request. 

 

There were advantages to human servants. They didn’t cost a fortune in medical bills, for example. “Oh, and Sampson?”    
  


“Yes sir?” 

 

“Do you know where Mr Snape might be?” 

 

“He… ahem,  _ left _ minutes ago.” He would have to work on his delivery, Sampson was entirely too easy to read. 

 

“And did he mention where he was going?” 

 

“I’m afraid not, sir.” 

 

“Thank you, Sampson. That will be all.” Lucius sighed and sat down, helping himself to the food laid out on the table. There was no point in running after Severus, especially in this condition. His limp was worse than ever and he had no Healer in residence any longer. 

 

The butler returned ten minutes later with a new copy of The Prophet. 

 

Lucius’ frown deepened as he read the front page feature article. “Well. That’s unfortunate.”  

  
  


* * *

 

 

_ The Daily Prophet, Feature Article. _

 

_ [picture of Lily Potter from her Wedding]  _

 

_ 30 January 2013.  _

 

_ Lily Potter: Celebrated Martyr, Paragon of Motherhood, Sorely Missed.  _

 

_ It is impossible to talk about the Wizarding Wars without thinking of the brave woman who sacrificed everything to save her baby boy from Lord Voldemort’s killing curse. The magic invoked by her pure mother-love’s sacrifice stopped the most powerful, evil wizard in history long enough to allow her son to grow up and go on to claim his victory.  _

 

_ Who was this amazing witch? Born Lily Evans to a muggle family in Cokeworth, she was remembered as a kind, considerate sort of person by her former Potions Professor, Horace Slughorn who kindly made himself available for interview at St Oswald’s Home for Aging Witches and Wizards. “Lily was very popular, always an excellent student, and she was particularly fond of me. She was very gifted in potions, always made top marks. She gifted me my Francis, a fish that she’d transfigured from the petal of a lily.”  _

 

_ Alas, her only living relations are Harry Potter himself, and the muggle family she left behind who were not available for comment. Auror Potter does not remember his mother, sadly, and finds it difficult to talk about.  _

 

_ Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s brilliant muggleborn best friend, did take out some of her valuable time to talk with one of our writers and she paints a more detailed picture of a dedicated witch who was far from candidacy for Sainthood.   _

 

_ “The memories left to Harry by Professor Snape proved that his mother (Lily Potter) was an ideal Gryffindor. I admire how passionate Lily was in the defence of her beliefs and those she loved. She also had a temper. Once lost, her good opinion almost never could be regained. It really is tragic, what happened between her and Professor Snape. One thoughtless word and she threw away what ultimately proved the most important friendship of both of their lives.” - Healer Hermione Granger, London. _

 

_ A private vigil is being held at an undisclosed location tonight in deference to Mrs Potter’s Birthday. We wish to extend our most heartfelt sympathies to Auror Potter and his family on this special day.  _

 

_ Mrs Potter would have been 53.  _

 

 ~ _ _Justin Merridan, Guest Reporter, The Daily Prophet__

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References were made to the following songs:
> 
> [The Time Warp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S91wQbYYX3Q) is from The Rocky Horror Picture Show and is by Richard O'Brien, Patrica Quinn and Nell Campbell
> 
> [Pour Some Sugar On Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84iPNM0ZXt0) is by Def Leppard. 
> 
> A/N:
> 
> This was written for the [sshg_giftfest 2018](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com) and [ Geminisister. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminisister)
> 
> Beta'd by[Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) who has helped through some re-rewrites the second time around (I kiss your feet!) and the supportive [ScarletDewDrops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletdewdrops/pseuds/scarletdewdrops).  
> Alpha'd by [SnapeLove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove) and [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel).  
> 


	12. Chapter 10: Neither Wiser Nor Older

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty long chapter, one that could have been 2 chapters, or maybe even three. So sit down with a cuppa or glass of mulled wine and enjoy the ride!

 

Chapter 10: Neither Wiser Nor Older

  
  


Severus wasn’t a social creature by nature, but Arthur Weasley’s birthday party presented an opportunity to gain intelligence that was too good to pass up. It would be his first social appearance, but he approached the event with the same ironclad determination that he’d brought to the most difficult tasks of his old life. Severus solicited expert advice from Draco. There was merit to the son’s criticism that Lucius’ taste suggested he’d run afoul of a gothic-seventies pimp uniform shop. 

 

He’d taken a trip to the barber that morning, sacrificing a length of ebony hair. Draco was insistent that Severus get the cut, saying the long hair made him look like a “post-grunge pill head loser.” The result was going to take some getting used to. It was still long enough that he could pull it back in a tie, but only just.  

 

Draco forbid him black for the occasion, it not being a funeral or a wedding. Casual parties were difficult to dress for, more so than formal events. Jacket and tie affairs came with clear instructions, and did not require so much thought. With his godson’s guidance, Severus chose a collared shirt in a pastel mint green, and over it he pulled on a charcoal vest. Draco instructed that he was to keep it buttoned and not remove it for anything. 

 

The midnight wash jeans amused him, for they hugged his hips in what struck Severus as a fashion paradox. The denim fit him snugly as though it were tailored for him, and yet the rise was so low they still had to be held in place by a leather belt. He was fond of the belt’s silver buckle; it was fashioned to look like a snake in a Celtic knot eating its tail. A rich emerald green tweed jacket went over the top and his good old black dragonhide boots were deemed acceptably ‘vintage.’ 

 

After some thought, Draco selected black wool travelling robes for him, ones that Severus previously believed to be off limits due to the colour. 

 

“Shall I fetch mice and a pumpkin?” 

 

Laughing Draco shook his head. “Don’t forget who’s the Godfather in this relationship, Severus.” Over a week’s worth of constant erosion had worn Draco down enough that he was starting to call his Godfather by his first name. 

 

“Right, well. Off I go. Looks like I’ll be fashionably late.” Severus cocked his head to the side, making no move to leave. “Is that still done?” He was dragging his boots, and he knew it. He wondered who would be there, regretting a dearth of inside information to go on beyond, “If they’re a redhead, call them Weasley; should be easy enough.” 

There would be a fuss. He’d rather face certain doom at the hands of his enemies than a house full of people, especially emotional ones like the Weasleys. He was allowed to use Unforgivables if his life was in mortal peril. 

 

Draco opened the door and steered Severus out of the house with a firm hand. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” was the parting shout. 

 

Snape drawled, “That’s quite the free license, Dad.” 

 

“Oi! Respect your fairy godson!”  Draco shook a fist at Severus’ back as he strode away, laughing.

 

* * *

 

Arthur Weasley was a man of simple tastes. He held one of the most influential positions in the Ministry of Magic, but he continued to cling to the patched together lived-in style of his lower class roots. It was with genuine pleasure that the Weasley patriarch greeted his guest at the door. “Severus! So glad you could make it.” They shook hands with ease. “Please, come in.”

 

Severus stood framed in the doorway, black robes hanging about him blocking the sun from entering the house. “Thank you, Arthur. Happy Birthday.” From the couch, an elderly witch gasped, face blanching, as though she’d seen a ghost. In a way, Severus supposed she had. 

 

The ambient noise in the room died down a notch as Snape stepped inside. Children stopped chasing each other to stare at the tall wizard cloaked in midnight looming in the doorway. 

 

Arthur was oblivious to the shift in mood about him and continued with the usual social forms, “Let me take your coat.” 

 

Unhooking the clasp, Severus swung the heavy robes away from his shoulders. “I appreciate the invitation, Arthur.”

 

“Would you like whiskey? Glass of wine?” 

 

“Neither just yet, thank you. Where’s Molly?” Severus glanced towards the kitchen, guessing it as the likeliest place for her to be found. 

 

“She’s entertaining the grandchildren, somewhere around here.” 

 

Severus had retained a hold on the package he’d brought with him: flat and most definitely book-shaped. It was wrapped in newsprint and tied off with green cord. “Many happy returns, sir.” 

 

“Oh, thank you! I guess I forgot to tell you that there’s a strict no-present rule in effect for the event.” Arthur accepted his present with evident delight. “I suppose I can overlook it this once. Shall I open it now, or later?” 

 

“Whichever you like.” 

 

As Arthur ripped off the printed paper with a hoot of excitement someone stepped up to Snape’s side.  

 

A tremor of unease pierced Severus’ inner calm as he recognized Neville Longbottom. The wizard had grown in height and confidence since Severus last saw him up at the castle, and his expression was too serious. “Hello, Professor Snape.” 

 

Headmaster was the proper title, but since Snape abandoned his position that day rather than risk a fight to the death with Minerva McGonagall, he’d forgo the correction. He hadn’t wanted the cursed job in the first place. 

 

Merlin, was Longbottom still afraid of him, after all of these years? Well, let’s see if the snake-slayer can face his boggart. “Professor Longbottom!” For a fleeting moment Severus was afraid that Neville might refuse to shake hands. 

 

But just like that, the ice broke. Severus clasped hands with a grinning Neville Longbottom. 

 

“Well met, sir. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Neville’s gaze travelled down to his neck for an instant, drawn to the ragged pink scar that was part-way visible above his collar line. 

 

“Is it excessively ghastly?” They released each other, and Severus ran a finger around the inside of the pale mint collar that did little to camouflage the blemish. “I could cast a glamour.” 

 

Leaping to reassure him, Neville flippered his hands. “Oh no, sir. This is the first time I’ve seen you, since the... Erm. Well.” He looked around, perhaps expecting Granger to pop up and rescue him. 

 

Taking pity, Severus helped the man out by simple expedient of changing the subject. “The memory you shared with me was enlightening. Thank you.” 

 

Neville’s eyes shone with appreciation. “It was Hermione’s idea. She’s so thoughtful. When she asked I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it myself. Really glad it was useful.” 

 

Granger’s idea? Really. Severus probed further, hoping that he’d found the fount of knowledge he sought. “Are you two still quite close, then?” 

 

“Oh, she comes around for a spot of tea a few times a year. I expect she’ll be here later. She’s been very busy lately, what with you and other projects she’s been attending to. It is possible that she might not have time.” He laughed, lowering his voice. “She usually brings work with her to these parties.” 

 

Seeking to steer the conversation back on track, Severus mused, “She always put a lot of effort into her little projects. Still writing twenty four inches when for every twelve assigned, I take it?” 

 

Chuckling, Neville stepped backwards to let a red-haired pollywog pass. “The leopardess can’t change her spots. Even now she takes care of all of us. Just yesterday she was telling me how she’d rescued a friend from a dangerous romantic entanglement.” 

 

Electrified fingers of shock traced down Severus’ spine as the bit of information he’d hoped to catch leapt straight into his net. “What was her reason?” 

 

Neville ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I believe there was a strong objection to the wizard. I’ve no idea of who, but she says during the war his whole family earned a bad reputation. I suppose if the bloke isn’t in jail he must not be that bad. Maybe it was his track record with women that bothers her; she mentioned that he’s divorced.”

 

“If the witch likes this bloke, what was it to Granger?” 

 

“It sounds like there wasn’t much evidence of true affection on the wizard’s part. She seemed to think he was only looking for a quick tumble, taking advantage of Luna’s good nature.” 

 

There was no doubt now of whose affairs in which Granger was meddling. Before he could catch himself, Severus growled, “Take advantage of Mrs Scamander, exactly as Granger herself proceeded to do?” 

 

“Luna’s always been so giving, and when someone does something thoughtless, Luna turns it around on them, transforming the interaction into an intentional gift of goodwill on her part. Hermione’s boasting about it tarnishes the shine of such a victory, but I don’t mind telling you that she seemed quite sure of herself.” 

 

Exerting self control, Severus forced himself into the appearance of better humour than he felt, “Perhaps there wasn’t much feeling on Mrs Scamander’s side in this case.” 

 

“I doubt that. Luna’s in love with everyone she meets. Hermione felt that she had to work quickly in order to keep Luna busy. You know Hermione, always so determined. I wasn’t about to contradict her. I’m afraid Luna hasn’t been herself even with such precautions.”  Neville shrugged.

 

Biting his tongue, Severus looked for some distractions of his own. “Arthur said something about wine. Is it in the kitchen?” On his way to hunt that glass down, he noticed his host seated in an armchair close to the fire, absorbed in the book he’d unwrapped: “How Things Work” by David McCauley. Like moths to a flame, several children had gathered close, eyes round as Arthur read aloud an explanation of just how it was that aeroplanes were able to fly without magic.    
  


* * *

 

Molly Weasley was even more overbearing and opinionated than Severus remembered. After exchanging a round of bad ear-related puns with George, he’d mentioned that he’d recently purchased a home in Yorkshire situated near Upper Flagley. That was the invitation Molly needed to muscle her way into the conversation. 

 

After George abandoned him in what might have been a speck of revenge, Severus suffered through a lengthy questioning on the state of the house, his plans for it, and the expected housekeeping arrangements. Nothing was below her interest, right down to the use of compost over manure in the autumn.

 

Helpless to escape the generosity of his hostess, he endured her rambling commentary. She’d lapsed into raptures over the grandeur of Ginny’s situation in life and her perfect children. Harry was by all accounts an indulgent and attentive husband, although his work kept him away more than she liked. Mention of Harry’s work as an Auror led to a suffusion of maternal pride for her son Ronald, who was a Senior Auror over Harry. She was quite certain that someday he would make Departmental Head. 

 

Crooning in disappointment as only a Grandmother could manage she went on. And on. “I begged Ronald to come by today, but he is very busy. And then there’s Hermione Granger. She’s a Healer, did you know that? It was a disappointment for us that she and Ronald never managed to find one another -  I blame her. Her studies were always more important, her career coming first. I doubt that she has ever really been in love.” 

 

Versed in the management of a Dark Lord caught up in the intensity of his own vision, Severus made the appropriate social noises so as to not suffer even greater tortures than he was now. “Is that so?” 

 

“I am quite sure. She stopped dating a few years ago. Said that most of the wizards were just trying to use her for personal gain. She attracts journalists and opportunists like the boys did before they settled down. It is her own doing. She’s so unapproachable. It’s a real pity, because she’d be the making of the right wizard. She is pretty, although not in the classic mode. Thin ankles, you know.”

 

Severus knew what it was like to be a living means to someone else’s ends. A tool rather than a friend. Eventually tools break or outlive their usefulness. Was that why Hermione was so determined to know everything and be the best? A fear of being left behind? 

 

Molly continued to natter on, “She is attracted to older men, I’ve noticed. Hermione might do for my second oldest, Charlie. He’s handsome, always such a favourite with the witches. I long for him to settle down and move back home.” 

 

Wasn’t Charlie Weasley gay? It cheered him to think that he knew something Molly Weasley didn’t about one of her children, and the very idea of Granger marrying the last unattached homosexual Weasley was wonderfully pathetic. Aloud, he encouraged this line of reasoning. “Still taming dragons, is he? Granger would have a perpetually injured husband to use as practise, and Charlie’d not be able to stop her from bossing him about. Sounds perfect.” He grimaced with the memory of the painful experience. 

 

A mob of grubby Wee-sleys were gathering around them. “Gramma! Gran! Please, is there anything to do? We aren’t allowed outside.” 

 

“Have you asked Granddad for a story?” Molly bent over to straighten one child’s dress and wipe another’s runny nose. 

 

“It’s his Birthday, Gramma. Mum says we’re to leave him alone. She won’t let us play hide and seek or tag inside or do crafts.” The speaker was pouting at his grandmother, his little arms crossed over his chest. He was very fair, a prettier version of Draco at a similar age. Instead of grey, this child’s eyes were violet. 

 

Reaching out to pinch his pouty cheek, Molly smiled fondly at the boy. “Little Louis, always so thoughtful.” 

 

Seeing a way out of his predicament as repository for Molly’s endless stream of self-important opinion, Severus leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. “I could read to you all, if you like? What story do you fancy?” 

 

Twenty minutes later, Severus was seated on a couch in the living room, away from the rest of the adults. He’d had to shuck his jacket and roll up his sleeves because the atmosphere had become quite close with children piled up like puppies on and about the sofa. He was reading from the classic, “Bartholomew and the Oobleck.” Dr Seuss’ story had enough plot beyond silly rhymes to charm even 13 year old Victoire Weasley, the older sister of little Louis.   

 

His voice was increasingly hoarse, but he soldiered on. Internally he imagined his vocal chords respiring out their last in a noble speech,  “It was a far far better...” As he turned the page, a shadow fell over the words and he looked up to find Healer Granger smiling down at him. 

 

“Here Professor. This will have you singing like a linnet again in no time.” 

 

“Thank you, Healer Granger.” He jockeyed the book into one hand, taking the offered handle of the mug in the other. As he breathed in the aromatic scent of spices, he found it difficult to look away from her. 

 

Her regard was steady, and the softness in her eyes wore down the careful cloak of dislike he’d wrapped about him as protection against her charms. “Call me Hermione, sir. I am still off duty.” 

 

A small hand patted at his shoulder, a reminder that in spite of the dynamics of the situation, they were not alone. He lifted the mug in a silent salute and then directed his attention back to the book in his lap. 

Fortified by the mulled wine, Severus finished his mission. The children paid him in awkward words of thanks, hugs, and a few grubby kisses that he hadn’t the heart to refuse. 

 

“You read very well. The children love you.” Granger was still there, stubbornly hanging about like a burr on one’s socks. She’d tucked herself into a chair across the room and had an open journal in her lap. She’d left her hair down and he found himself wondering how soft her curls might be. It was a shame they were attached to such a high-handed woman. 

 

Annoyed with himself and intent on avoiding confrontation, Severus drained the last of the mulled wine, letting it warm his throat. “There are better storytellers.” 

 

Smoothing her skirt, she answered, “No one listening to you would find your timbre or diction wanting. I’ve never had the knack of entertaining little ones.” A wistful, self deprecating smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

 

“I am even less a babysitter than I am an elocutionist.” He shifted with some discomfort, recalling that she was a child herself when he’d first met her. For him it was only what, 7 years ago? 

 

She seemed to correctly guess the direction of his thoughts, for she commented, “You can’t have forgotten how much trouble I was at school. I had a talent for getting in over my head, and Harry downright attracted trouble. Here I sit, living proof of your skill in keeping even the most difficult children safe. Even Neville survived in spite of his own efforts.” 

 

“I imagine, Miss Granger, that like everything else, if you took the trouble to practice, you would in time become an expert in any of your self identified weaknesses. Determination to succeed is your greatest strength.” Did he just compliment her? He groaned inwardly. Well, perhaps she hadn’t noticed. 

 

Healer Granger didn’t answer, but as he stood up to return the mug to the kitchen her eyes followed him. She fixed him with the attention that she usually reserved for a particularly complex problem, and it surprised him that as he passed her chair, she had yet to say anything.  He could not guess what was on her mind. 

 

Severus paused at the door, rolling his sleeves back down, and decided to use the opportunity. “What I want to know is if you also possess the wisdom to match your power. There are problems that even the great Healer Hermione Granger cannot remedy. What is more, there are problems that don’t need fixing.” 

 

With that he pulled his jacket back on and stepped away, before he was tempted to tell her exactly what he thought of her deficiencies of character. He doubted she had any idea of just how much pain she’d caused in her fervour to save her friend from an unfortunate association. 

 

No, he’d had more than enough of Granger’s remedies. If he had his way, that mug of mulled wine would be the last time she interfered in his life, regardless of her intentions. He’d done what he’d meant to do. It was time to head out. He wanted some time to think alone before he spoke with Lucius, and so he headed to his new house in Upper Flagley - with no intention of following any of Molly’s solicitous advice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Severus threw off his cloak, waiting for the ringing in his ears to clear as he settled into the sterile peace of his empty parlour. The contrasting silence had a density to it, as though his ears were packed with cotton wool.

 

It was a relief to get away from that too close atmosphere. There was only so much of the Weasleys he could handle and he’d managed to suffer through three times what he expected was his limit. 

 

Healer Granger’s pleasant magnetism had him completely off balance. He wasn’t used to hearing warm praise from anyone, and to hear it from her when he was still processing the extent of what she’d done to Lucius put him into an uncomfortable position. 

 

Since that first day in his bathroom at Malfoy Cottage she’d thoroughly confused him. There were few traces of the overeager swot he’d taught. She’d grown into a lovely woman and it was refreshing to have a conversation over tea with a witch who’d had such an eclectic range of interests, for she was rich in experience and education. Still, she was off limits.

 

At his sickbed she’d declared that she would never look at him that way, a matter of Professional pride. That suited him: he was too disoriented to handle such attention, too vulnerable. 

 

Toby’s time with her had brought him to an alarming level of awareness of her grown-up charms. 

 

When she’d quit as his Healer, that had stung, he would admit. Still, the revelation of the whole ugly business with Luna and Lucius revealed the true flaws in her character, cloaked in the outward appearance of virtue and competence. 

 

Hermione Granger lost the last shreds of his trust when he saw the article in the paper.  Granger’s flagrant, willful misrepresentation of his own memories was absolutely unforgivable. 

 

He fancied he was one of the few that recognized her failings for what they were. Healer Hermione Granger in her arrogance and conceit wielded a dangerous amount of influence under the banner of Good Intentions. He’d plenty of that with Dumbledore, and look how well it played out for him. 

 

He would be well quit of Granger, and the sooner the better.  Perhaps Lucius would be interested in escape. They could tour the continent, or perhaps explore someplace warmer and more exotic. 

 

A knock at the door pulled him away from that pleasant occupation. He’d no servants of his own, so he was obliged to answer. Amusing how one became accustomed to help so easily. What would his father say if he knew his son craved the services of a butler?  

 

When he pulled the door open, Miss Granger - for he no longer need call her Healer in his mind - pushed past him into the house. Rooted to the spot, he could only say her name with dismay. “Miss Granger.” 

 

The witch’s agitation was obvious as she walked into the room, her eyes darting about as though she were looking for something and failing to find it, “Good evening to you, Professor Snape.”  

 

She’d not put on any outer robes and her dress clung to her, its thin floral print damp with the rain. Her back was to him, but he could see the comely figure that she’d kept hidden in Healer regalia. He’d already tasted a sample of her charms as Toby. 

 

At a loss, Severus watched her in silence. There was a certain cruel pleasure in watching her struggle. 

 

“This isn’t what I’d envisioned, sir.” She spun around and to his dismay, he found himself the subject of a remarkably tender gaze. Her eyes traveled over him, their warm honeyed brown resting on his hands, his lips, and at last meeting his own gaze. 

 

He could not look away, consciously resisting a wild temptation to read her thoughts. 

 

“I am out of my depth. I have researched the subject of love extensively over the years, and until recently I believed myself firmly encamped in rational opposition to popular notions of romantic attachment. You have turned my entire world upside down.”

 

Gone was the cool and collected Healer. In her place was the passionate, bleeding heart of Hermione Granger, laid bare for his inspection. She was simultaneously alluring and ridiculous, dripping on the carpet a mere few feet away, her hands open, as though she meant to offer him herself as a gift. 

 

“How does one begin to approach such a wizard, a legend, with expressions of adoration without sounding like a ill favoured heroine from a bad knock-off of the classics? Convention expects that I remain taciturn, modest, and retiring. My heart shuns such dissimulation, demanding instead that I tell you how very much I admire you.” 

 

Her fine-boned hand clenched in a fist, knuckles white with tension. “Spoken prose fails to fully express the height and weight of my feeling; in my mouth words lack the necessary depth. Poets use words with skill, but I have never practiced its application. Until you, I never thought I would want to make such speeches. I might throw myself into study immediately, but Luna thinks I should be myself. I believe you prefer honesty and happily that I have always tried to apply in abundance, for clarity.”

 

Clearing his throat, Severus found his indignation overtaking his paralysis. He could end this by the simple expedient of asking her to leave. Morbid curiosity made him wait for her to explain herself more fully. 

 

“My sense of decorum balked at coming here, unannounced and uninvited.” 

 

Shifting uncomfortably, Severus was reminded that they were alone together in the house.

 

“Indeed, I should not say anything of my feelings for you at all. I was your attending Healer and before that your student, although decades ago. Both relationships define specific expectations for interaction, boundaries if you will. I have struggled to stay within those socially defined parameters, but in this I have failed.” 

 

Severus hoped for a moment, when she closed her eyes, that her good sense would exert itself and stop this madness. She was acting so strangely that he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was intoxicated. 

 

She looked at him again, apparently having composed her thoughts, “My feelings for you have grown beyond sincere good wishes for your happiness and well deserved respect.”

 

Taking a tentative step forwards, she continued to babble. “My own Amortentia, which I went through some trouble to revisit, is a combination of cut grass, spearmint toothpaste, and the smell of fresh parchment with dragon’s blood ink.” 

 

The words that were coming out of her mouth were pure romantic drivel, but she seemed quite serious. There was no flushed heat of girlish desire in her cheeks or hint of jest about her eyes or the corners of her lips. The terrible hope that shone in her eyes moved him at last to put a stop to this.

 

“What does this have to do with me, Madam?” He was very still, afraid that if he moved that she’d latch onto him. He hoped that she’d perceive his discomfort, take the hint, and go away. 

 

It was too much to ask. Undeterred, she stepped closer again, hands falling down to her sides. “This particular regard I hold for you is stronger than reason. I’ve fallen in love with you, Severus Snape, mind and magic, down to the ground.”  

 

Severus stared at the witch, aghast. This had to be a nightmare. In a minute, the alarm would go off and he could go do something less horrific, like show up late to teach potions, completely naked. But no, this nightmare was gripping, like living a disaster in slow motion, every painful detail highlighted and annotated by its author with references to be listed in Appendix B.

 

Taking his silence for an invitation to continue speaking, Granger paced back and forth in growing agitation. “Logically, I worked to convince myself that this is a bad idea. A relationship between Healer and patient is not ethical. I quit your case because I could not continue on in such an intimate nature harbouring these feelings in good conscience. Furthermore, you were my teacher. For me that was sixteen years ago, a lifetime away, so that not a convincing argument against such a liaison.” 

 

Real anger kindled within Severus. Did she think that he would actually welcome such an ouverture?  ‘I think I love you, but we have only enjoyed relationships that were defined by an imbalance of power, so it is wrong but let’s give it a go?’ No wonder she was still single. It was oddly flattering. 

 

“The second obstacle is that my family won’t be pleased with such a match. In time I am confident that they will appreciate your better qualities,  and you have borne worse than the dislike of a pair of Muggle dentists.”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest before she forged onwards. Classic Granger. Why not use three hundred words to express a thought instead of distilling it down to only the three most necessary?

 

“Thirdly, I have a reputation that I must maintain. Many people are going to object when it becomes public knowledge that I’m close, intimate even, with a former Death Eater. Such unrelenting prejudice infuriates me. You were exonerated, hell, I  _ helped organise your defense _ ! The unfortunate fact remains that as a Healer in high standing, I could be subjected to censure for less. I risk losing everything I’ve worked for. It would take little more than an unsubstantiated accusation of insanity or suspicion of malign influence.” 

 

Any pleasure that he might have felt drained away as he became more and more offended. How was he to answer this ridiculous assertion of love? She was making it easier to refuse with every arrogant word that dripped from her lips. 

 

“My research into the social conventions suggested that at the very least I should wait a few months before seeking you out, but I was afraid that something would happen, that’d you’d disappear and I’d have lost my chance.” She lapsed into silence. 

 

If only he had left tonight. Australia was nice this time of year. No, he was not going to retreat. He was no coward. This was his home, the foundation of a life he hoped to start anew. 

 

She was looking back up at him, even though she was at least two feet away, she felt uncomfortably close. “Please. I think you’re brilliant. You are everything in a wizard I never knew I wanted,  _ needed _ in a partner in life. I think I’d be good for you too. Give me a chance?” 

 

A tense silence stretched between them as Severus marshaled his thoughts. It was simple to compose a concise response. He wasted no poetry; he used words with the exacting economy of a butcher. 

 

“I should be obliged to you for such lovely sentiments, but since you are so reluctant to give them I could never accept in good conscience.  I do not return your love. I regret if my behavior at any time suggested otherwise, I would never lead you on in such a way. I expect that you will come to your senses and recover, in time.”   

 

“And is this your answer?” She sounded lost, her voice small. 

 

“It is.” 

 

Gathering her wits, she turned and paced back and forth before inquiring, “I am categorically rejected, then? If so, I would like to hear your reasons.” 

 

Annoyed, Severus quipped, “I am sure that your superior intellect and list of clearly outlined logical rationale against this ill favoured liaison, as you have dubbed it, will offer you sufficient material to help you recover from the unaccustomed sensation of failure.” He’d suffered disagreements with students over wrong answers on a test that felt much like this, he never yet yielded.

 

Too controlled, she asked, “Professor, have you fallen back into an uncivil mode of social interaction by reflex or design?” Did she jest? 

 

“Miss Granger, you have expressed what I assume must be a confused passing fancy and framed it with a shoddily constructed insult. You have given me no reason to offer you courtesy in return. If that were not sufficient excuse for incivility, then I have others.” He had not wanted to continue, but she goaded him to imprudence. 

 

“And what might those be?” He saw her lower lip quiver, a sign of discomfort at last. It heartened him.

 

“Why would I oblige the witch who has stolen my oldest friend happiness? Do you deny that you have prevented Mrs Scamander from seeing Lucius Malfoy, in spite of an obvious attraction between the two?” 

 

Granger was not ruffled by this accusation, “While Luna is enchanted with him, she is historically flighty. What is more, I observed Mr Malfoy most attentively, and I could not see that he treated her with any particular affection. It was a whirlwind affair, all fire and no fuel. In advising prudence, I have treated her tender heart with more care than I have afforded my own.” 

 

“So you  _ admit _ that you interfered. Have you also intercepted Lucius’ notes?” 

 

“I did, and I have….” Hermione paused, composing her answer in discomfort, which pleased Severus. “I have collected all of Luna’s correspondence, as she requested, and she will get them when she has time to attend to them. Some time apart would be good for them both.” 

 

“On what authority do you assume that your judgment of what is best for them is superior to their own? How dare you treat them like children!” 

 

“Did you expect me to stand by and watch as she convinced herself that she was in love with the wizard who’d kept her locked in his basement as a child? She is going to get hurt. I can’t ignore my entirely rational concern that a romantic association with Lucius Malfoy would turn my dear, trusting friend into a walking target. That makes her twice the victim.” 

 

Severus noted the symptoms of fear masquerading as cold reason. Her dilated pupils, the rising pitch of her voice, the stiffness of her spine. If he weren’t quite so angry he might have retreated, but the last, most glaring point needed to be made.  “Your interference in Lucius’ affairs are not my only reason for wanting nothing to do with you. You contributed to that vile editorial besmirching Lily Potter’s character. Have you an excuse for that too, Miss Granger?” 

 

Angry, Hermione stepped forwards. “Lily Potter was a martyr, not a saint!” 

 

Severus was shaking now, his blood boiling with the vitriol of unfettered malice. “Lily Potter was  _ everything _ . She was ten times the witch you are!” 

 

That insult hit home. Hermione flinched, as though struck with an arrow, and pain superseded the anger in her eyes. Did she withdraw? Of course not. She got in a blow of her own, worthy of any Gryffindor. “If that is the case, then why couldn’t Lily find the smallest scrap of forgiveness in her perfect heart for you?” 

 

Severus closed his eyes, controlling the urge to summon a terrible curse down on the infuriating witch, as well as a wilder impulse to end them both. Lily owed him nothing. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, even after placing his very soul on the altar in sacrifice to her memory. 

 

Reaching deep to maintain a semblance of composure, Severus growled, “Miss Granger, you are not innocent of fault. Don’t you dare judge her.” He was no coward, so he opened his eyes once more, although it hurt to look.

 

Granger’s eyes were red-rimmed with suppressed tears, and yet she’d brought this on herself. She had torn down any inhibitions demanded by the modicum of respect she’d earned from him for her minor part in his rescue. He’d faced down legions of weeping teenaged witches over the years and they repulsed him, but Granger’s tears were different. They were ambrosia, feeding his ire.  

 

Severus stepped closer, towering over Granger’s petite form. Later he would pay for abusing his voice, for he’d lost his composure. He shouted, “You had no right! My private memories, which I gave Potter for the purpose of explaining his destiny, were not yours to reveal. You blackened Lily’s reputation, knowing how I felt about her. Her son was your best friend! Is this the work of a supposed scion of good, the golden Princess of Gryffindor? Did calling into question the character of a dead woman satisfy your vanity? You aren’t fit to lick Lily’s boots.”  

 

Hermione’s eyes were alive with emotion and no doubt well-organised rebuttals, and yet she managed to deliver her response with a controlled calm. “So, this is your true opinion of me. Thank you for your honesty. I had hoped this conversation would go differently. Perhaps it might have if I had not wounded your pride in my anxiety to be wholly honest.” A flicker of defiance bled through into the last statement.

 

Oh, that was just the icing on the cake. Severus growled, “You have behaved in a high-handed and conceited manner with every turn, taking no consideration for the best interests of anyone but yourself. You have convinced me that you are the last witch I’d ever want to be associated with in any sort of intimate manner.”  There was a tug in his chest, akin to the sensation of a taut thread breaking. There was no going back now; even the most obtuse of people would understand. 

 

Mouth hanging open in shock, Hermione stared back at him. It was too much to hope that she was rendered speechless, alas. After the echoes of his own words died out, she spoke in a colourless, soft tone. “I am left to be ashamed of what my own feelings have been. Forgive me, Professor, for taking up so much of your time. I bid you good evening.” 

 

Disarmed by her politeness, Severus watched silently as she placed her hand over her heart, bowed and then retreated from the house, and probably his life forever. 

 

It didn’t feel like a victory, but he told himself it was exactly what he wanted. Collapsing into a chair, Severus felt hollow, emptied out. He should feel glad to have such unpleasantness over with, but his inner turmoil was much more complex. How had he missed it? There must have been some sign. The Hermione Granger he knew was as subtle as Hagrid, for Merlin’s sake. Or was she? She’d managed to hide things from him as a student. 

 

Snatches of the disastrous conversation echoed in his ears, playing back like a painful series of clips left perpetually on random replay on Draco’s iPad. The only remedy he knew that would make it stop was to drink himself into a stupor, just like his father before him. He wasn’t proud of it, but the alcohol eventually took away that shame too.   
  


* * *

 

He was still in a state of disheveled despondency when Lucius came to check on him the next day. He’d drank himself into oblivion, and was still pulling himself back together when Lucius handed him a sobering solution. “Drink this.” 

 

Severus stared at the phial, really not feeling ready to face reality. He was due for a bender. What right had Lucius bloody Malfoy to make any demands of him? “Fuck off.” 

 

“No. Now, either you drink this or I force it down your tender throat.” Lucius’ expression was grim, and even in this state Severus could tell he was not bluffing.

 

Growling, Severus took the potion and chugged it down. The blurry edges of his vision started to come into sharper focus and in three breaths his fog was gone, replaced by a blinding headache. 

 

“Merlin’s magical marbles, Lucius! Somebody had better be dying because I am not in the mood.” 

 

Lucius drawled, “No doubt. I take it that the party last night was not a grand success?” 

 

Severus scrubbed at his eyes, trying to remember where he’d left his wand. “It was fine.” He patted at the sleeve of his shirt, relieved to find his wand there in its holster. 

 

“Then why was I rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn to play owl for Healer Granger?” The bastard stared down at him, not willing to play along with the lie.

 

With a heartfelt groan, Severus summoned a headache remedy. 

 

Lucius’ gloved hand intercepted the jar, plucking it out of the air before Severus had a chance to get near it. “Answer me.” 

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

 

“Try me.” Lucius rattled the bottle in enticement. 

 

“She quit as my Healer because she thinks herself in love.” There, he’d said it aloud. He held out a hand and waggled his fingers. He doubly deserved those pills now.

 

Lucius was not shocked. Smug was a good word for it. As he was satisfied, he passed the bottle over. “I see. And your response?” 

 

“I rejected her, naturally. She doesn’t really know what she wants. It is merely a childish fantasy and she’d half talked herself out of it anyway.” Using the last few drops of liquid from a tumbler he’d discarded last night, Severus swallowed two pills before moving to stand and look his old friend in the eye. 

 

Lucius fanned a hand in front of his face,  “I think I’m going to rummage for some breakfast. You need to go shower before the fumes coming off of you melt the glaze off of the windows. Salazar’s tears, man. How are you even standing? Clear your head, because we need to talk.” 

  
  


* * *

 

Severus scowled at Lucius who sat waiting for him in the solarium, where there was entirely too much sunlight pouring in and not enough bacon. 

 

“What is this?” He controlled his mouth before he said, ‘shit.’ 

 

Lucius pointed to the empty chair next to him. “Sit. Eat first.” 

 

A bowl of some sort of gruel sat steaming, waiting for him. Poking at it with a spoon, Severus’ first impression was that it wasn’t wheat or oats. And there were bits in it. Tentatively, he blew on the spoon and took a small bite. It was the consistency of glue and had no flavour. It must be incredibly nourishing. He loathed it.

 

“You didn’t answer. What is this?” He gestured to the bowl with the spoon. 

 

“Amaranth.” 

 

“I’m not eating this.” 

 

“Severus. I am old enough to be your father, but you need not remind me of the fact so forcefully.” 

 

“Is this what you fed Draco?” 

 

“For fuck’s sake, Severus! Are you a wizard or not?! Transfigure your own Merlin-scorned porridge and get on with it. I swear on my Mother’s grave if you don’t I’ll stun you, truss you up in scarlet ribbons and leave you somewhere Granger will find you.” 

 

“I’d like to see you try, old man.” 

 

Summoning the sugar and cream from the kitchen, Severus took some pleasure in guiding the two so that they flew close to Lucius’ head on entering the room, missing by only a few inches. 

 

Once the bowl was empty, he turned to see Lucius frowning at him as though he’d farted in the Queen’s face. He wasn’t about to ask what was on Lucius’ mind. There was a thick envelope resting on the table next to Lucius’ tea. 

 

“What’s that then?” Damn, Severus had cracked first. Score one for the old man. “You said Granger turned you into an owl. Let’s see what she has to say.” 

 

His friend made no move to hand the letter over.  

 

“Before I do, I feel it necessary to bring some things to your attention. I take no delight in any of this, but it appears that it has become necessary.”

 

“First, you should know that without Potter and Granger, your trial would have likely ended completely differently. As you were dead at the time, officially, it was your reputation that was on the line. I understand that you’ve little use for the opinion of others, but in standing for your defense, those two preserved your legacy. Without them, you would have had nothing to come back to.” 

 

“Secondly, I don’t think you fully understand how much Granger has done for you in the present. I can’t take any credit for your rescue. Without her you would still be trapped and I none the wiser as to where you’d gone, as I’d been looking for you all these years. Dr Lundar was her contact, not mine. Granger took a sabbatical to rescue you and bring you back from the brink of death. She has worked countless hours, and you owe her your life at least three times over by my count.” 

 

Severus shrugged, “Well, that leaves me up at least one.” 

 

When Lucius looked at him in disbelief Severus counted the events out on his fingers, “Botched polyjuice potion, second year. Petrification, second year. Werewolf, third year. Department of Mysteries Battle, Dolohov nearly killed her. You were there for that one.” He paused, frowning. “Why was she so intent on talking about Draco’s role in my rescue?” 

 

“She was concerned that you would be deeply unhappy with her involvement, I think.”

 

Lifting the cup of tea to his lips, Severus processed this. “Hmm.” 

 

“That is my third point. She has been very careful of your privacy and guarded you nearly 24 hours a day on her own. Draco helped somewhat during the day, as have I, but she was there the entire time. That day you decided to announce your presence to the world, she was beside herself with the worry that you acted under the influence and would regret it later.  When you could not do it for yourself, she tossed the Minister of Magic out on his ear.” 

 

“Fourth point. Healer Granger continues to hold me responsible for what that happened to her and her friends at Malfoy Manor. She doesn’t trust me with reason. Luna was a prisoner in my home for months, Severus. She was still a minor. I made no effort to look out for her care and safety. Thank god for Narcissa. Hermione was also our prisoner, although for a much shorter time.” 

 

Severus was listening quietly. “I saw her scar.” 

 

“What you can’t see is that Bellatrix tortured her for over an hour by Cruciatus, and under her knife. Bellatrix fancied herself an artist with that cursed blade. We stood by and watched Bella do it, and none of us dared to interfere. Hermione was catatonic by the time Bellatrix was done with her. She could still hear us, heard us squabbling over who would have the honour of summoning the Dark Lord. She’d protected Harry but could do nothing for herself.”  

 

“You’ve seen how she treats Draco? Twice the vinegar and half the honey that she has for everyone else, and it isn’t because of their long history. She’s forgiven him for that day, because he lied to protect Harry and she understands there was nothing he could have done to help her. On the other hand, she has always treated me with absolute courtesy but never crossed the line into familiarity.”

 

“Ah ha! Too proud to gift you with her opinion. Sounds right.” He was confident in his belief of her arrogance. 

 

“She had a genuine right to call for my execution. Instead, she asked for leniency and given all that befell her and Luna in my home, I deserve no such consideration. In Liverpool my intimacy with Luna offended her greatly. Even so, she was the soul of discretion, treating the injury I’d done myself without embarrassing Luna. She has a vast capacity for compassion. I understand why you think her proud, but in damning her for arrogance you are letting your own prejudices cloud your judgment. You are guilty of the same crimes of which you damn her.”

 

Severus stared at the letter, eyes unfocused. He had no idea of what to say to any of this. What was Lucius’ point? 

 

“This morning she admitted to me that she’d done everything in her power to separate us. She explained her reservations. She apologized.” Lucius smiled ruefully, “Although threats on my person were made, should I break this fragile trust.”

 

“And what say you?” He should feel good, that he’d accomplished something. He really didn’t.

 

“After this I will be going to Luna. I plan to do everything in my power to erase any doubt of the depth of my love. My intention is to give her everything. Hermione’s only request was that I give this letter to you to read first, and stay long enough to be certain that you were safe.” 

Anger rose in Severus, “As if anything Granger could say would put me in danger of that.” He did have his pride, after all.

 

“You drank last night, Severus. You almost never drink that heavily. I’d say she isn’t wrong about this.” 

 

His father had been an alcoholic, one who’d beaten his wife and son and spent the family’s every penny on gin. The comparison stung. “I am not my father.” 

 

“I did not say you were. I said you were drunk. I leave it to your brilliant mind to examine it further.” 

 

Severus controlled his impulse to tell Lucius to fuck off. “Right. I guess I’d better start in. Where’s my red ink?” 

 

“You’re kidding?” 

 

“Never.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_ Professor Snape,  _

  
  


_ I have taken pains to ensure that you receive and read this letter, so do not bother with destructive magics. Unless you have access to the Sword of Gryffindor or fiendfyre, I very much doubt you will succeed. _

 

_ Do not concern yourself for I have no intention of asking you to change your mind. I expect that the sooner we forget what happened last night, the happier we both shall be.  _

 

_ The matter that compelled me to produce this missive is simple. There are facts of which you have remained ignorant, and I must illustrate further so that you might understand more fully my character.  _

 

_ With regards to my treatment of Mr Malfoy and Luna Scamander, I may have grossly overstepped my duty as a friend. Mr Malfoy’s manners towards Luna have indeed been quite pleasant, but never seemed to invite a deeper familiarity. You tell me otherwise. If you are correct, then I was wrong.  _

 

_ I wanted to be right and felt certain that I was doing Luna a service in separating them as soon as I perceived the danger. In failing to recognise Mr Malfoy’s true feelings, I have indeed caused  harm, and for that I have earned your censure.  _

 

_ I do, however, have reservations about them as a couple,  ones that are both right and rational.  _

 

_ As you know, Luna was kept captive at Malfoy Manor for months as a political hostage. She was starved, weak, and barely herself when Harry and Ron came upon her in the dungeon. She was tasked to attend upon Mr Ollivander who was tortured within an inch of his life. The Malfoys never spared a thought for Luna’s wellbeing or made any effort to help her. The formation of a romantic attachment seems unnatural. _

 

_ In order to provide further context, it is necessary to mention my own experience with the Malfoys, although I expect it will offend you. I must be honest, and any further apology would be absurd.  _

 

_ When we were captured by Greyback, having fallen afoul of the Taboo, I was recognised almost immediately. I’d taken steps so that Harry was disfigured, but I’d not thought of myself, and underestimated the amount of exposure I’d received in the wake of the break in at the Ministry. Scabior and Greyback decided to take the lot of us straight to the seat of power, Malfoy Manor.  _

 

_ Draco pretended not to recognise Harry but could do nothing to shield me, and after Bellatrix saw the sword, she went mental. You have seen some of the souvenirs I retain from that afternoon, and I judge that your imagination possibly informed by experience will fill in the other gaps in this story adequately. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy all stood and watched the proceedings. I shall never forget how Lucius rejoiced in catching Harry, and vied for the honour of summoning Lord Voldemort. If Dobby had not intervened, all would have been lost.  _

 

_ I digress.  _

 

_ Luna is the best of humanity. She retains purity and an innocent sense of wonder in spite of all she has seen. I have watched her have meaningful conversations with Giants, and persuade Grindylows to acts of kindness. Where others shy away, she rushes in to greet with an open heart. In short, I have seen her fall in love with a multitude of bizarre and monstrous beings.  _

 

_ She is a better person than I am, and I mistook her goodness for fallacy. Am I wrong to discourage my dear friend from entering into a serious romantic relationship with such a partner? He trails the spectres from the war I most wish to forget. Such a connection would blacken her reputation and lay her open to those who would seek revenge on the Malfoy family. Luna doesn’t care what others think of her, but I have no wish to see her or her sons hurt, Professor.  _

 

_ What I observed when she was with Lucius alarmed me as I sensed that she was developing strong feelings for the wizard, ones that I could not imagine him capable of returning in equal measure. It is a failing of witches, that our minds jump from admiration to love, and from love to marriage faster than a Billiwig’s sting.  _

 

_ When Luna left Liverpool she had every intention of returning to Hogsmeade, and Mr Malfoy’s side. I contrived to distract her with duties and amusements, hoping that her fascination would fade.  _

 

_ In retrospect, I am ashamed that I went as far as diverting letters from Lucius, and made sure they would not cross paths in London.  _

 

_ I did openly express my own doubts about the wisdom of seeking out Mr Malfoy’s companionship to her, for I did owe her that honesty. It was too easy to convince Luna that Lucius showed no sign of partiality to her on a deeper, more lasting level.  _

 

_ I believed this to be the truth. Lucius received Luna’s affection as a starving man appreciates any scrap of bread, with a delighted indifference to its source or quality. The Malfoy family have been known to look out for their own interests, and Lucius would have much to gain politically through such a connection.  _

 

_ Draco had been quite unguarded in expressing his hope that his father might be able to produce another heir and take the pressure off him, as Draco isn’t ready to settle down yet. I do wish Draco would have some sense - anyone might have heard him. He gossips and flirts too much, and gets intoxicated entirely too often.  _

 

_ Lucius has made strides in improving his reputation, but Draco’s ill sense of timing and lack of propriety might materially damage that progress. Draco saves up his rudeness for me like a pensioner saves coupons in preparation for a grand feast, but I believe he is equally thoughtless with others.  _

 

_ The second, more serious charge you laid before me last night pertains to my part in the article published on Lily Evans Potter.  Two years after the war was over, I was approached by an American who represented himself as a scholar documenting the history of The Order of the Phoenix. He came with good references and excellent credentials. He spent hours talking with me, and I’d been led to believe he’d already collected information from others within the Order.  _

 

_ History is decided by those who write the books and I’d hoped to influence him. It is particularly important to me that the accounts accurately report the hardships we suffered under the Anti-Muggleborn regime.  _

 

_ I also meant to clarify any confusion surrounding your actions during the war as you were not able to defend yourself. Even though the Wizengamot tried your case and declared you a hero above reproach, many were still entirely convinced that your performance as a Voldemort loyalist was too genuine. In my enthusiasm, I made a number of unguarded remarks. Alas, they have been brought to light at a particularly bad moment.  _

 

_ Lily Potter has been elevated to the status of legend, and you are correct - I possess no first hand knowledge of her. The quotes taken from that interview were out of context, yet the sentiment I tried to express remains true. Lily Potter was a wonderful woman and an amazing witch who sacrificed everything to protect her son from the most Evil wizard the world has ever known. Without her, we might well have lost. _

 

_ Her failing was that she should have been a better friend to you.  _

 

_ A friend would make allowances for such an extreme provocation. One thoughtless word, one mistake was all it took to lose Lily forever. It was a tragedy. _

 

_ If I’d never forgiven Ron or Harry for the hateful things they said to me, I don’t think that we would have ever finished the tasks set out for us. I use my friendship with Ron and Harry as a yardstick, but do not mistake my meaning.  _

 

_ I am not in the same league as Harry’s mother, nor do I expect that I would benefit from such a comparison. How could one ever measure up to the standard of such a figure? If asked to compete, I would lose before the rules were even set down.   _

 

_ Regardless, that fraud has been making a living off of the sensationalised works he sells to the papers, and in preparations for the Fifteenth Anniversary of the end of the war, The Daily Prophet has engaged him to write pieces on all of the figures of interest. Lily Potter’s piece is a part of a series.  _

 

_ Yours was published on your birthday. I imagine that you could request a copy from the paper. I was not forewarned, nor did I give permission for my testimony or name to be used in such a manner.  _

 

_ I regret the pain that the article caused; my part in it was most unconsciously done. _

 

_ If you are interested in another person’s testimony on the subject of the liberties taken by the press, Harry would be happy to meet with you. He is unaware of the particulars of my involvement in your return and since you are so eager to be well quit of me, I implore you specifically not to mention my hand in the rescue. Neither my pride nor my vanity were on the line that day. I believe I only thought of you. _

 

_ Please accept my best wishes for your future happiness and well being.  _

 

_ Sincerely,   _

 

_Hermione Granger._   
  
  


* * *

 

Severus dropped the parchment on the table, feeling drained. It was too much to take in all at once. 

 

“Well?” 

 

He’d forgotten that Lucius was present and startled. “I have no idea of what to think.” 

 

Lucius stood, straightening his clothes. “Do I need to call Draco over?” 

 

Severus made a face, “Please don’t. I need to think. Alone.” 

 

“You will be alright?” 

 

“I am perfectly fine. Healer Granger has said her peace. We are nothing more to one another than indifferent acquaintances.” 

 

Lucius stared at him in open disbelief. “Are you quite certain?” 

 

Severus drew on his skill as an accomplished actor, pulling on a mask of composure for his friend’s benefit. “Completely. Now, get out of my sight. I have other things to attend to. And if I’m not mistaken, so do you.” 

 

“Right.” A smile that Severus hadn’t seen in weeks lifted Lucius’ face. 

 

Love. So that’s what it looked like. Severus had forgotten.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: 
> 
> Thanks to Havelocked, Coremandel, and ScarletDewdrops for beta-ing this chapter, and to SnapeLove for alpha/emotional support.   
> This was written for sshg_giftfest and Geminisister. 
> 
> A super special extra thanks to Havelocked for beta-ing again through revisions. You are a mensch, dear.


	13. Chapter 11: All This Time I Was Finding Myself

Chapter 11: All This Time I Was Finding Myself. 

  
  


Luna woke on Sunday to a knock at her door. It was abominably early for visitors, not quite eight in the morning. “I wonder who it could be?”

 

She’d returned to her Hogsmeade flat after a hard day of fundraising. There were plans for an outdoor Amphitheatre to be erected over the site where the Shrieking Shack once stood and she was helping out. The defunct building mysteriously burned to the ground over a week ago. Privately she thought that it must have been due to a rogue band of Heliopaths who were trying to destabilize Brimblecombe’s Government. 

 

Luna found herself chairing the committee - perhaps it was her enthusiasm that recommended her as she had not a jot of experience. The Amphitheatre was a wonderful idea. It was just the thing, as there weren’t many venues for Magical Entertainments. The built-in lore surrounding the property was quite charming. Not to mention the town needed a place for the Memorial Ceremonies, and the school might use it too. She wanted to see an expanded program for the Arts at Hogwarts. Long ago, there was a student Theatre programme, but it was cancelled after an explosion disrupted The Fountain of Fair Fortune because two naughty students mishandled a poor ashwinder. Entirely unjust! Dear Rolf was right: Care of Magical Creatures ought to be mandatory in the curriculum. A pang of sorrow coloured her thoughts.

A rapping at the door pulled Luna’s attention back into focus. She’d paused in pulling on a dressing gown. The rapping was becoming more insistent. A muffled voice called her name. 

 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK… 

 

Deciding not to chance it, Luna used her wand to unlock the door from a few paces back. The door swung open, and Hermione Granger stumbled inside. Her face was pale, almost green and her features pinched in obvious distress.

 

“Hermione, how wonderful to see you! What’s wrong? You look awful. You haven’t picked up a case of the Sallows, I hope?” 

 

Luna leaned in to give Hermione a hug and a peck on the cheek before turning to close the door. Hermione was a deep well, and Luna never knew what she was going to draw up. Today she had the air of exhaustion being held up by her drive to complete a self-appointed mission. She looked something like this during the war. 

 

“I needed to speak with you. Luna, I’m sorry but it couldn’t wait.” Hermione tensed as Luna stepped back to her side and put an arm about her shoulder. 

 

Crooning Luna tried to soothe her friend, “I’m here, let’s get you out of that cold coat and into the warm, hmm?” Luna pulled her friend inside to the couch and started a fire in the grate. Magic was wonderful for such things. 

 

“I’ve brought your mail and a confession.” Hermione sat down, her back ramrod straight. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun and Luna thought she smelled fresh shampoo. 

 

Turning her back to Hermione, Luna animated the tea service. She’d no breakfast yet, and she doubted that Hermione had any either. “Are you hungry?” 

 

“Luna! Please listen to me.” Hermione pleaded with her eyes. She had a stack of letters balanced on her lap, tied neatly together with ribbon. 

 

“Tut tut tut. Tea first. Take off that cold robe.” She finished and returned to scolding her friend gently, ”What have you been doing to yourself? What would Severus say if he saw you like this?” 

 

Hermione flinched when Luna spoke Severus’ name. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with a hand and turned away. The bundle of letters fell to the floor with a thump. 

 

“Hermione?” 

 

A strangled sob escaped her dear friend, and although she hid her face, Luna had already witnessed the pain written there. 

 

Luna’s heart clenched in sympathy as she slid onto the sofa, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “Oh, Hermione.”

 

The words increased Hermione’s distress, quiet weeping giving way to wracking sobs. Not getting any sort of intelligent communication from her friend, she cast her eye down to the letters. They were addressed in an elegant hand that she recognised. “To The Sweetest of Women, Mrs Luna Scamander.” 

 

Was Hermione upset because Lucius was writing to her at last? No, she’d said she was sorry. Leaning over, she hooked a finger into the ribbon holding the letters together and it came undone. It wasn’t just one or two notes. There were over twenty here and some were quite thick. 

 

The outline of a disappointing story began to unfold before Luna’s eyes. Hermione had been too insistent that they head up to London that night instead of returning to Hogsmeade. She didn’t want to believe that Lucius had forgotten her so easily but she’d had no word from him. He’d essentially disappeared, so Luna thought that Hermione must be right. It had been a fling, a one weekend stand. 

 

Luna’s heart lifted as her eyes drank in the evidence to the contrary. She felt fit to burst with the joy. Now all she needed was for Hermione to be happy with her, for such euphoria had to be shared, it was too much to hold by herself.  “You know I’ve already forgiven you, don’t you?” 

 

“I’m so sorry, Luna!” Hermione turned about to face her, so Luna gathered her into her arms as she had with her sons when they were small and heart sore. They sat together like this for some time, Luna stroking Hermione’s back. Handkerchiefs were summoned and applied liberally for an adult heartbroken witch produced even more drippings than a little boy. 

 

At length, Hermione began to recover her composure. “I don’t deserve you as a friend.” 

 

“And yet you have me. Now, tell me. What has happened?” 

 

“I’ve been a fool.” 

 

Luna sighed, “That is the last thing I would believe of you, Hermione Granger.” 

 

“No, really. I was afraid and I shouldn’t have interfered.  I saw what I wanted to see and I almost ruined everything for you. Why are you laughing?” Hermione pushed away from Luna, searching her face in confusion. “I broke you away from Lucius Malfoy! You should be angry.” 

 

Arms freed, Luna summoned two cups, absentmindedly letting magic be mother for the occasion. As the kettle poured, Luna smiled at Hermione. “Hermione, surely you know that love is an unstoppable force? There is nothing that you could have done to snuff it out if it were true.” 

 

“You really believe that?” Hermione held her cup steady for the kettle, an effort after the long sleepless night she’d spent soul-searching. 

 

Luna’s joy burned brightly within her. “With all of my heart. Love is the purest of magic. It requires no practice; you don’t even need a wand.”

 

Hermione hadn’t sipped her tea yet, setting it aside on the low table nearby first. Using her wand she levitated the letters up off of the floor and into a neat stack. “I have already spoken with Lucius. He surprises me, Luna.” 

 

“I know.” Had he written to her every day? She thought that might be the case.

 

“How do you see so clearly? Can you teach me how to be more like you? How do you do that?” 

 

“Do what?” Luna smiled brightly at Hermione. “You’re making little sense.”  

 

“You have such wisdom and strength where others only see careless innocence. I am heartily ashamed of myself.” A measure of colour was returning to Hermione’s face. 

 

Shaking her head, Luna answered, “I’m willing to try, Hermione. The difference between us really is a matter of perspective. It can be deceptively powerful.” 

 

“Is that all? I think there is more to it than that. Much more. You have a talent for happiness.” 

 

Holding up a finger in rebuke, Luna did her best schoolteacher impression. Unfortunately, Professor Flitwick didn’t have a stern bone in his body and the effect was more of a gentle chiding. “There’s your problem right there, Hermione. You think too much.” 

 

Hermione was stricken, opening her mouth to answer but seemed to think better of it. Looking over at Luna, she visibly made an effort to smile. “Yes, I suppose you must be right.”

 

“Was that so hard?” 

 

Leaning into her friend’s shoulder, Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think I have the knack of it just yet.” 

 

“Patience and time. That’s all you need.” 

 

There was another knock at the door. It rung loud, likely struck by something other than a fist. Like a walking stick. Lucius was here already. “Ah, he is here!”   

 

Hermione put down her tea and sprung to her feet. “Oh dear. I’ve stayed too long.” She gasped, “You need to go change, Luna! You’re still in your nightgown.” 

 

Luna didn’t seem terribly concerned. “Why? I’ll likely just take it off again. A terrible waste of effort.” 

 

Blushing, Hermione looked between the door and the fireplace. “Um. Quite. Right.” She tilted her head toward the fire. “Do you mind if I use your floo? I wouldn’t want to, erm... Get in the way.” 

 

“I could use a silencing charm…” Luna’s offer was not serious, but it was fun watching Hermione squirm.

 

Hermione lurched over to the fireplace and grabbed a hand of floo powder, “No need. I’ll take myself off. Goodbye!” She threw the powder down with clear instruction, “The Grange!” and was gone. 

 

It was impossible not to giggle at Hermione’s discomfort with sexual innuendo. Laughter on her lips, Luna basked in the glow of her happiness. Her joy multiplied when she opened the door. “Lucius! There you are. How I’ve missed you.” She laughed as the usually reserved man flew into her arms with a cry. 

 

“Luna!” He peppered her lips, her cheeks, her nose and her brow with frantic kisses. Words must have failed him for all he could say was her name over and over, making of it an expression of his ardour. 

 

Luna loved it, for her name on his lips was sweeter than any song or poem for it had no form, only feeling. “Welcome home, love. I’m so glad you found the way.” 

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

“Draco, I’ve told you enough times. I’m not coming out. I’ve got more important things to do.” 

 

“Come on, Severus. You’ve been rattling around in this place by yourself too long. Live a little.” 

 

“No.” 

 

Whinging, Draco attempted an appeal to Severus’ sympathies. “I don’t want to be a third wheel to Dad and Luna again.” 

 

“Go find a bird online. You were so keen on me filling out a stupid survey for Oy Vey, Stupid.* See how you like it.” 

 

Draco grinned, “I’ll do it if you do it too.”

 

“I have no interest in any witch who resorts to such tactics to secure a date. They’re looking for a meal ticket.”

 

“Come on, Severus. You’ve got an estate and no one to share it with. Don’t you crave someone to keep you warm on long winter nights?” 

 

Quirking an eyebrow, he grumbled, “You come over often enough.” 

 

“Ew. Too incestuous.” Draco leaned away, as though there was danger of Snape jumping him. 

 

“Gra..,” Severus stopped himself. He was about to say that Granger was right. He continued, hoping that it was smooth enough to go unnoticed. “You’re a pervert. Now, get out and find someone else to bother.” 

 

“How is it that you’re technically 20 years younger than Dad but you’re the one sitting at home when he’s out there partying?” 

 

“It isn’t going to work, Draco.” Severus’ withering tone hinted at his growing annoyance.

 

“What if I promised Granger wouldn’t be there?” 

 

“As if I give a shit.” He articulated the ‘t’ with spite. 

 

“She’s away on a conference. Probably getting an award for worst bedside manner.” 

 

Severus arched a brow in interest. “She’s improved then?” 

 

“You’d be impressed, I think. Charlie Weasley was in town, and somehow his dear Mother managed to poison him. Always thought the food had to be dodgy. Granger was a real bitch, gave him a remedy and tossed him out the same hour. And get this, she claims Molly did it on purpose. What for? I’d believe that of some women I know, but never Mrs Weasley.” 

 

Severus started to laugh, “That’s too rich. I bet Granger was right.” 

 

“What?”

 

“Charlie must have never come out to his Mum, and Molly’s determined to collect the third member of the Golden Trio via marriage.” 

 

Draco tipped his head back and cackled. “I ought to send Mrs Weasley a bunch of roses. She’s made my week.” 

 

“Do give her some tips on subtlety.” 

 

“And ruin my fun? Oh no, I just want some warning so I can record the next time for WooTube.” 

 

Severus grimaced. “Disgusting habit. Worse than gossip.” 

 

Slapping his thigh in finality, he moved to stand up. “Right, I’ve done my bit. You should rename this place. Fortress of Solitude? No, that’s already taken. Hmm.” 

 

“I see I am going to have to toss you out.” 

 

“How about, Snape’s Rest Home? Could hire in a few witches to attend your every wish.” Draco was standing, but not moving yet. He did waggle his eyebrows.

 

“Fuck. Off.” 

 

Edging backwards, Draco said, “Where’s Toby? At least he isn’t dead below the waist. Are you quite certain Granger put you back together correctly? Maybe she left your cock… OW!” 

  
  


* * *

 

Draco sat on a bed in the Spell Damage wing, waiting for his inevitable doom. He was mortified. It was one thing to be hexed - when you’re Draco Malfoy, everyone’s always wanted a go at you. It was another thing entirely to be pwned by your godfather so masterfully that you had to seek out expert aid from the last person on the planet who you wanted to witness your shame. 

 

Draco had a cloak on with a generous hood. It barely concealed the erect penis that was growing out of his hairline in all of its grotesque, bulbous glory. Physiologically, it shouldn’t be possible, but here he was. Hard. Tumescent. Proud. Gloriously obscene.  

 

There was a mirror on the wall across from him, and he’d made a game making his forehead Phallus sway in time to the William Tell Overture as it galloped through his mind.

 

The door cracked open and Granger slipped inside, her back turned in order to set a privacy ward on the shut door. 

 

“Finally!” 

 

Healer Granger turned around, putting her hands on her hips. She struggled visibly to maintain her composure, her mouth twitching with the effort of trying to be serious. She obviously wanted to laugh her ass off. Expelling a breath through her mouth, she in turn inhaled through her nose. In a would-be calm voice she ventured, “So, sir. What seems to be the problem?” 

 

Draco looked up with crossed eyes to where he could see the purple appendage still bobbing. “Really, Granger?” She was going to have a go at him, and he supposed he should have expected it. Where was the ethically irreproachable Gryffindor now?  

 

“I am tempted to pretend that’s your usual state, but I’ll try and restrain myself. I am only human, Draco. Now, has it been longer than three hours?” 

 

“What? Why would that matter?” 

 

“Priapism is a very serious medical condition and could lead to permanent erectile dysfunction.” 

 

“Merlin, Granger. You are such a bitch.” 

 

Hermione smiled brightly. “It is so lovely to be understood. Now, tell me what really happened. Was this pleasure or punishment?” 

 

Blushing deeply, Draco ground out, “Hexed. I was hexed, Granger.” 

 

“And, was it a transposition or is this de novo?” 

 

“My cock’s still in its nest if that’s what you mean. Want to see?” 

 

“I should, but I think I’ll take your word for it. And might I ask who did this to you?” 

 

“Snape.” 

 

The mirth died in Hermione’s eyes. “Oh. Him.” She stood there, silent for several heartbeats before she gathered her wits. “What have you already tried?” 

 

“Finite, obviously.” 

 

“What else?” Granger produced a scroll of parchment, which she set out on the nearby counter, attended by an animated quill. They used nice ones for record keeping. Ones that would also illustrate the physical findings if requested. 

 

“Murtlap essence.” That had been unpleasant. It was cold, and unfortunately the mini me was fully enervated. 

 

“No luck. Alright. Severing charm?” 

 

Draco’s hands flew up, as if to protect himself from harm. “Are you mental?” 

 

“Right, so no. Maybe if we wait long enough it will drop off naturally.” 

 

“Granger, I really need this off. I have plans.” 

 

Raising her eyebrows, Hermione eyed the clock. “Bingo at the old folks home?” 

 

“Snape kicked me out before I could win the whole kitty.” An itch at the back of his brain made him stop and wonder. Aloud. “Merlin, what happened with you two? He becomes so unreasonable at the mere mention of your name.” 

 

Hermione looked away. “I… I don’t think I can explain. It is complicated.” 

 

“Try me. I’ve got a dick growing out of my head. It can’t be much worse than this, can it?” 

 

“Draco, I’m supposed to be helping you with your cock problem. Good Godric, I never expected those words to come out of my mouth.” 

 

Smirking, Draco said, “Spill, Granger.” 

 

Hermione turned away, looking in a nearby cabinet for supplies. “I told him. About my crush. On him.” She sniffed. 

 

Frowning, Draco stared at her turned back. “That’s… interesting. I take it since you are both miserable that it didn’t work out as you’d envisioned?” 

 

“He was disgusted. Appalled.” She ducked her head, speaking to her feet. “I was so sure that there was something between us. I mean, when I realised who Toby was, I really thought it meant something.” 

 

Draco panicked internally. She knew about Toby? Oh, fuck. 

 

“Then there was the Amortentia. And at the Weasley’s he was so lovely with the children. So different. I’d meant to wait, but something he said made me want to give it a go. It seemed so right.” 

 

Mind processing the onslaught of intelligence sluggishly, Draco tucked the reference to her Amortentia into the back of his mind. “That was before Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it?” 

 

His father and Luna Scamander had renewed their relationship that same weekend. Snape regressed to his signature black uniform and scowls, but Draco had thought it was because he was left to his own devices too much. Spot of jealousy, that sort of thing. Apparently not so. 

and pr

“Yes. Just before. In any case. I went to speak with him at home. He didn’t stop me, Merlin. I think I rambled on for at least ten minutes before he finally said anything.” 

 

That sounded like typical Granger. “Right. I assume you put your foot in it somehow?” Normally that would have made her angry, and probably induce violence on his person, but this reaction was entirely new. She blew her nose before answering him. 

 

“I’d no notion that he hated me so very much. I was a fool to think I might have a chance.” She was crying, and still wouldn’t turn around.

 

Draco would have laid down galleons in favour of Granger and Snape making a good couple on so many levels. The age difference didn’t exist any more, they were both swotty as all get out, and both of them liked to read. How had he not noticed something was wrong before. He was a terrible friend. “Oh, Hermione. Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco slipped off of the bed, crossing the room in a few steps to put his hands on her shoulders. 

 

Hermione turned around, leaning her forehead against Draco’s shoulder. “What was I to say? He spoke in absolutes. There would be no working on him to change his mind, and I’d not force myself where I wasn’t wanted. Besides, he did have reasons to be angry with me.” 

 

Encircling the Healer in an entirely platonic hug, and fervently hoping the privacy ward would hold, Draco hummed. “Don’t tell me he’s mad at you for pulling his bacon out of the fire.” 

 

She shook her head into his shoulder, “Worse. I tried to break up Luna and your Dad.” 

 

That was news to Draco. He’d thought it was something else. Like maybe Luna had caught sight of something shiny, or a squirrel. She always seemed to be somewhere else to him. “Well, did you fix it?” 

 

“Luna told me love was too strong for me to break in the first place. I expected your father to be angry, really angry with me, but he didn’t utter a single cross word. He thanked me.” 

 

Draco suspected that Luna had a profound effect on his father, and that lack of fury might be proof enough by itself. “Right. So, why is he still angry?”    
  


Hermione shuddered, gulping down a sob. “Remember that historian I dated first year?” 

 

“Justin, wasn’t it?” He was a player. Draco recognized the type, but she was so pleased to have more than one date that he didn’t say anything. Besides, they weren’t friendly yet. 

 

“Yeah. Well, we talked a lot about the war. He said he was writing a chapter for a textbook of modern Magical History on the Order of the Phoenix. I thought he really cared about getting everything right. Anyway. I’d seen the memories Snape gave to Harry, and I’d been so angry with Lily.” 

 

“I saw the article. I didn’t think it was that bad, really.” He rubbed soothing circles on her back.

 

Hermione sniffed again. “Well, Snape has decided that I’m arrogant, conceited, high-handed, and selfish. Oh yes, and not worthy to lick Lily’s boots. I’m the last witch he’d ever look at in that way.” 

 

“Ouch. I had no idea.” He drew her in close. “Well, for what it is worth, Hermione, he’s a thrice over fool. Any wizard would be lucky to have your admiration.”

 

“Thank you, Drake. I have tried to put him from my mind, but I keep coming back to the conclusion that there’s no other wizard like him. For some reason, I’m determined to love him.”

 

Draco dropped a kiss on the top of her bushy head. “Stubborn heart.” 

 

“Yeah. IQ of 227, but hopeless with boys. What a cliche.” 

 

Chuckling, Draco got an idea. “You know what you need?” He had no idea of what an IQ was, but he was certain this plan was brilliant, at least enough to justify him a score of 230. Whatever that meant.

 

“I have a feeling you are going to tell me.” 

 

Pulling back, Draco put a finger under Hermione’s chin, making her look at his face. He waited until her eyes tracked upwards, holding her tight so she could not shrink away from him.  

 

Flashing his most charming smile he answered, “A good laugh.” 

 

Wide-eyed, Hermione protested, “Draco…” Hermione had forgotten about his condition, and her squeal of shocked surprise delighted him. 

“So. What are you going to name this curse for your case report? I expect it to be a best-seller. The bi-cock? Glabellar Glans of Grand Proportion? GGGP has a nice ring to it.” He lifted his head sharply, intentionally setting the member of the millennium bobbing up and down. “I’ll let you take full credit.” He had no interest in having his own name anywhere near that one although the idea of co-authoring with a nice little dedication to Severus did tickle his fancy. 

 

Wriggling free, Hermione backpedalled away, stopping when she ran up against the wall. She chuckled as she trained her wand on him. “Dickhead! Keep your thingy away from me!”   


“I’m just thankful it isn’t fully equipped. Can you imaging pissing with this thing?” 

 

Overwrought and too weak to fight it anymore, Hermione broke down into belly ripping laughter. 

 

Two hours later, Draco walked out of St Mungo’s with a bandage about his forehead and a mission in his heart. Something _ had  _ to be done. Severus and Hermione were meant for one another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Havelocked for her diligent work as beta along with ScarletDewDrops - you ladies are the best. Thanks also to SnapeLove and Coromandel for being awesome friends and alphas. <3 
> 
> This was written for the sshg_giftfest this year for Geminisister.


	14. Chapter 12: Didn't Know I Was Lost

 

 

 

Wake Me Up - Chapter 12: Didn’t Know I Was Lost

  
  


It was a Thursday afternoon and so Severus made the hike uphill to Hogwarts, for he was invited for tea and Poppy had promised chocolate biscuits. This was his third invitation, making him a regular.  He’d never admit it, but he looked forward to sitting with Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall. Hogwarts was his home, more so than Spinner’s End ever was. 

 

They convened in the Infirmary, a convenience for the Mediwitch as much as it was for the Headmistress, the former wishing to be accessible and the latter quite the opposite. Thursday was the quietest day during the week according to Poppy, unless it was a full moon. They should be safe: the full moon was yesterday - he’d needed to adjust one of his formulae accordingly. 

 

The scene in the Infirmary was utter chaos. An entire class of what to Severus’ eye looked to be fifth-year students suffered from various stages of distress. 

 

Distraught, Madame Awfoie whizzed about, a contradiction of action devoid of purpose. Poppy looked up as he walked in. “Ah! Severus. I thought you might be Healer Granger.” 

 

Awfoie screeched, “You called St Mungos?! You didn’t need to do that. You can take care of this right here. What kind of second-rate Mediwitch are you?”  

 

Exasperated, Poppy craned about to look at the door, muttering something about Minerva being tardy. She moved the woman bodily out of her path, making her way over to a particularly frail-looking boy. Of the group, he was the only one having trouble breathing. 

 

Severus stepped around Awfoie and asked in a conversational tone, “Might I be of service?” 

 

“Yes, please. I’ve got only some of the information I need. I think she did something to try and fix the problem.” The frightened look in Poppy’s eyes as she accepted made him worry too.  

 

Turning to face the Professor, Severus asked, “Would you please describe the potion that these students were working on?” He considered the curriculum, suggesting, “Antivenom?”

 

The witch screwed up her face in obvious disdain. “Non, zat was covered first term.” 

 

One of the students, a shivering but bright eyed girl in Slytherin colours spoke up, “It was supposed to be Aegis Conflagrum, sir.” 

 

“Ah, thank you, Miss…?” 

 

“Janelle Shacklebolt, sir.” She tried to still her trembling, hugging herself. While he was accustomed making his students cower, this wasn’t from fear. Her fingers and lips were a shade of blue that wasn’t expected for that particular draught. 

 

Curious and more than a bit concerned, he pressed for more information. “Thank you, Miss Shacklebolt. Was it specific to a singular type of fire or a general Aegis?” 

 

He had addressed this question to the student, but the teacher had carded her wits back together from wherever she’d sent them and answered haughtily, “General. I don’t like your tone. What are you doing here anyway?”

 

Severus was forced to batten down his amusement when the girl rolled her eyes at the Potions Mistress, a surge of thought bowling over him from her direction. He glimpsed the vision of a caricatured Madame Awfoie using an Ease-E-Brew cauldron done up in childish pastels, complete with a fake flame. Amused and a bit surprised by Miss Shacklebolt’s cheek, his response was delayed long enough that he didn’t need to form a rebuttal. 

 

“He is helping, which grants him more legitimacy of purpose than you might claim. Hullo, dear.” Minerva had arrived unnoticed. She tapped a powdery cheek and Severus, rolling his eyes, gave her a peck.  

 

Bristling, Awfoie protested. “Headmistress, I must object. This man can’t be considered to be qualified! He’s almost two decades out of date; hopelessly outmoded. No, I will not have him interfering.” 

 

Poppy and Minerva fixed the woman with twin death stares. 

 

Unruffled, Severus maintained his cool. He knew how to deal with people like her. “Did you bring a sample with you?” It would be standard procedure, but somehow he doubted she’d thought that far ahead. It wouldn’t have been included in the Ease-E-Brew instructions.

 

“It’s all ruined, nothing to bring. Non, I was most anxious to get the students immediate medical attention.” 

 

Swivelling to Minerva he asked, “Is the classroom in the same place?” 

 

“Yes, it wasn’t damaged in the battle, although you’ll want to watch the stairs.” She had to raise her voice as he was already sprinting away, “They are slippery!”

 

Out of need as much as curiosity, Severus reached out to the castle, offering a greeting in the mode he’d used as Headmaster. Hogwarts was sentient, but it did not think or perceive as humans did. It was slow, more ponderous, like the rock from which it sprung. It didn’t use words to communicate, but if forced to explain it, he would describe it as music. Abstract, but still capable of expressing complexity. 

 

Warmth flowed around him as the Castle answered with a welcome of its own. Severus was nearly overrun with the enthusiasm of it. He was put in mind of a pack of puppies mobbing a favourite toy.  Pushing it away, Severus laughed. He needed the Castle’s help. 

 

Silently he asked about the state of the lab, and most particularly the Halls and the best route that would get him there post haste. They were still within the class periods, so thankfully he would not have to push through a crowd. He dared not try to Apparate within the Grounds. Not without the true Headmistress’ consent. 

 

It felt good to run like this, in tune with the surroundings as he could not be anywhere else. Leaping down entire flights he used magic to reduce his weight and improve his footing. At last, he came to the very familiar door and reached for the handle. The castle stopped him before he could touch the metal. It was warded, locked against entry. Any who tried would be cursed in a most inconvenient way. Swearing, he turned his thoughts back to the Castle. “It is an Emergency. Would you please let me in?” 

 

The section of wall next to the door fell downward, as though it were built with that very intention. “Thank you.” 

 

Smoke met Severus’ nose and he lifted his sleeve to cover his face. Someone had left a cauldron on the burner. The sulfuric haze made his eyes sting and he cast a Bubble Head charm before it could get to him any further. 

 

It was a scene out of the Potioneer’s Manual on Disaster Management, a textbook case. Cracking his knuckles, he set to work. 

 

Just like old times.

 

* * *

 

When Severus rushed back into the Infirmary, he noticed immediately that the room was sweltering with heat. Professor Awfoie was bound by ropes and silenced, parked by the door which was the coolest area. 

 

Two of the students were missing, one of which was the most worrying case. The remaining eleven, while definitely ill, did not appear to be in imminent danger. Every student’s skin had taken on a blue cast, and if they weren’t all shivering violently it might have been amusing. 

 

He held a box containing a series of vials, seven in all, along with a bag containing samples of all of the ingredients he could locate. The scale of the disaster suggested either flawed instructions or a befouled ingredient. 

 

“Poppy, might I borrow your-” 

 

“Help yourself, I’m a bit busy!”

 

“Are you evacuating the students?” Severus wondered if he should be helping with that instead. 

 

Minerva appeared at his elbow, stern in her worry. “No, just the two worst. The Healers will be back.” 

 

“Right.” Healers. Maybe it wasn’t Granger. Or it would be Granger and someone else. No time to worry about that now: he’d work to do. 

 

Five minutes later, Severus strode back into the infirmary. Blind to everyone else in the room he cancelled the silencing charm on Awfoie. “Barbegazi. Chin hair from a Barbegazi. Have you used this formula before?” He made no effort to camouflage his disdain for the bound up ninny.  

 

“Why yes, it is a speciality that I added to the curriculum. My family are intimate with a clan…” The haughty woman didn’t seem to perceive the problem, her tone suggesting that she were sharing a trade secret. Barbegazi were a race of friendly beings from the Alps, whose beards would freeze anything they came into contact with. The magic was strong, yet very difficult to temper without a fine hand. 

 

Cutting her off, Severus asked, “The ashwinder eggs. What sort of wood fire were they from?” 

 

“Yew. A local varietal, much more plentiful than any other...” 

 

Severus recast the Silencio on her with a curt, “Thank you, Madam.” 

 

Snape hesitated, watching Healer Granger passing out draughts to the shivering children. He didn’t have much time, so he cleared his throat to attract the Healer’s attention.  Madam Pomfrey turned about, “Ah, Severus! Back so quickly?” 

 

He spoke directly to Granger, trusting that she was the authority in the room now. “She stocked poison grade ashwinder eggs, not potions grade. Their heat is too weak to balance the Barbegazi hair.” 

 

“Poisonous. Did she say it was Yew?” Healer Granger had turned from her work and was standing now with a grim expression. She had a firm command of common poison lore, which he’d expected. When had Hermione Granger ever permitted a lapse in her encyclopedic knowledge?  _ Never  _ if she could help it. Neither did he. 

 

“Yes. I imagine the two sickest students were light handed with the Irish Moss.” 

 

“How long does the Barbegazi last?” 

 

“84 minutes, give or take.” 

 

“And with the ashwinder?” 

 

“No effect. Unless you mean the Yew. It likely is French, the diurnal Continental variety. Dawn to dusk is when it’s most poisonous.” 

 

Hermione turned to check the position of the sun outside the window. “So a few more hours and the students should be out of the worst danger, at least until morning.” 

 

“Correct.” He eyed the steaming flask in her hand. “What is that?” 

 

She handed it to him, letting him examine it while she cast a Patronus. A leopard leapt into view, prowling over to Severus. He was surprised when the great cat began purring, leaning in to rub its insubstantial shoulder against his thigh. The feeling was curiously pleasant, a strange warmth bleeding through his trouser leg.

 

Flushing, Hermione addressed the glowing creature. “Take the following to Draco: Barbegazi is responding to the Hot Toddy, but Professor Snape says we also have wrong ashwinder and diurnal Yew poisoning.” 

 

Madam Pomfrey collected the warm flask of “Hot Toddy,” looking up at him with expectant pride.

 

He didn’t mind showing off his “outmoded” potions expertise, for the children’s sake.  “Mooncalf milk should take care of both problems, Granger.” 

 

“And Snape says we need Mooncalf Milk.” She waved the leopard away, turning back to the students, assessing each with the back of her hand in succession with a light touch. The pinnacle of human intelligence and magical education, and still she trusted her own senses over measuring instruments or charms. 

 

Minerva wrung her hands. “Where would one get that? Tesco’s?” The muggle reference jarred Severus’ train of thought in favor of fixing the Headmistress with a stunned stare. Was that a jest? No, she was leading and he was standing like a fool. 

 

“Ask Luna’s In-Laws. Isn’t that where Neville gets the manure?” The Healer had given the answer needed. 

 

The prospect of a problem he was capable of helping solve charged him with a new wave of energy, and yet he hesitated, for he had no wish to try out his Patronus just now. Swallowing, Severus asked, “Minerva, would you mind?” 

 

The cold edge of bitter understanding showed in the Headmistress’ tone as she cast the necessary spell. “Expecto Patronum!” The tabby cat padded over to him, sniffing at his shoes. What the hell was going on? He hadn’t bathed in catmint! 

 

“Go to Tina Scamander with the following message: Tina, there isn’t much time. I have 13 poisoned students and Professor Snape is recommending Mooncalf Milk. Have you any?” She waved her wand, sending the cat shooting off in a streak of light. 

 

Mere heartbeats later a glowing stallion trotted in through a window. “Yes, of course. Is the floo open?” 

 

Although Scamander couldn’t possibly hear them, the Headmistress swore aloud. “Drat! No, it isn’t. It takes a writ from Her Majesty the Queen to remedy that.” Minerva was gathering her skirts, and Severus understood her intention.

 

Severus cleared his throat. “Minerva, with your permission, I can go. Just tell me where.” 

 

“Dorset, 14 Cauldon Avenue, Swanage.” It was Granger who answered. Of course, she knew. She probably memorised telephone books for fun on slow nights at the Hospital.

 

Headmistress McGonagall was staring at him, obviously irritated. “This bloody Castle. Interfering pile of shale, that’s what! Go, go. We’ll talk later.” 

 

Turning on his heel, Severus felt the thick wards of the castle part, allowing him to step between, and through to Swanage Bay.

  
  


* * *

 

Shortly after he returned Granger was called back to St Mungo's; the mirror she carried spat out the particulars of an assault case that was on its way to her teams trauma bay.  Madam Pomfrey was quite comfortable administering the warm milk. Severus recalled it was said to taste minty, but he’d never tried it himself. He stayed with Poppy until the sun set, and with it passed the worst of the risk for the children. 

 

They’d received word that the other two students were improving, although the boy, Eric, wasn’t completely out of danger. 

 

What Severus regretted most acutely about Granger’s leave-taking was that she set Professor Awfoie loose. The Headmistress put her on probation then and there, dismissing her to pick up what remained of the lab. Not feeling any pity for the vile woman, Severus did not offer to help.

 

McGonagall frogmarched him down to dinner in the Great Hall, seating him next to her. 

 

“Does Granger come out often?” 

 

“Only since I hired that menace. I don’t suppose you are interested in a little teaching…?”

 

Severus winced. Surely there was someone out there who was qualified, not an idiot, and actually enjoyed teaching? And was not him? “I find it hard to believe that after over a decade of teaching the subject I failed to produce anyone who might serve as a replacement.” 

 

“Rumour is that you cursed the job, much like what happened with the Defense position.” 

 

That amused Severus. “Even from the grave I was making life more difficult for my colleagues, or at least being blamed. I like it. Go ahead and let that rumour stand. Might perpetuate itself.” 

 

She gave him a withering stare. “I was asking for some more material assistance, Severus.” 

 

“Minerva, I know it seems like a good idea, but for me it has only been two months since the war ended. I don’t sleep well, I’m prone to mood swings, and I crave peace and quiet. I need my space. Please, try to understand...” 

 

The Headmistress dropped her eyes and turned away, her hands still on the table. “I am quite forgetful when it suits my need, but you are right to remind this old witch. I apologize, Severus. It was terribly insensitive of me to ask.” 

 

“Let’s talk of something else more pleasant.” Speaking of successful students, the one uppermost in his mind seemed a safe topic of conversation if he was careful with what he had to say. “Healer Granger seems quite competent.” 

 

Pleased pride lit up McGonagall’s face. “Oh, she is incredible. I thought at one point that she was going to choose Law over Medicine. She has a passion for both. Watching you die had a lasting effect on her.” 

 

He would have preferred his lessons in the foundations of potions as a legacy. Sniffing, Severus opined, “Well, now that I’ve been resurrected, she’s free to pursue a career in law, isn’t she?” 

 

“You flatter yourself.”  She shook her head. “You were always the hardest on her. She worked three times as hard as any other student, but you never encouraged her. Why?” 

 

“To do otherwise would have been a grave lapse in character. Think about it, Minerva.” He pushed a piece of rubbery beef about on his plate. He was losing his appetite.

 

“At least you consider her competent. From you, that’s practically an Outstanding.” She was watching him with an uncomfortable degree of interest. 

 

Picking up his napkin, he wiped his mouth. “Don’t let it go to your head. I still think she’s an insufferably interfering, arrogant swot.” 

 

The Headmistress protested, “Even now, so hard on her. It is a good thing she’s beyond your influence. I’d hate to see her attempting to live up to your expectations. Tell me, what would it take for your disdain for Miss Granger to change over to at least civility?” 

 

“I know she means well, Minerva. My criticism roots in her base arrogance, which has only been amplified by the influence she wields as a war hero. She’s so certain that she knows best, she neglects to consider other people’s wishes over her own opinion of how things should be. If she just stopped thinking and started listening, she might have a chance.” 

 

Sighing, McGonagall nodded. “Late bloomer. Much like someone else I know.” 

 

Severus let that one pass unremarked. 

 

“I suppose you heard that Mr Filch is likely to retire at the end of the year.” 

 

“I never thought that day would come. What does he plan to do next?” Severus looked down the length of the staff table, wondering where the man was. 

 

McGonagall smiled, “I’ve offered him the use of my house here in the village. I’ve no use for it, and he wouldn’t be forced to climb steps anymore. Ever since the accident at the start of the term he’s not been himself.” 

 

“Accident?” 

 

“Oh, yes. He tripped over Mrs Norris and fell face first into that cabinet of confiscated magical contraband he keeps in his office. He was very bad off, and refused to go to the Healers. Madam Pomfrey did what she could for him of, course. Young people’s odd ideas of what is amusing nowadays could have killed him.”

 

Concerned, Severus asked, “If he was that badly off, couldn’t Poppy simply stun him and send him up by port key?” 

 

“No, a  _ Stupefy _ might have killed him. He was desperately worried about Mrs Norris, you know. She has been dwindling down, poor thing. Wasn’t fast enough to get out of his way, and he did land on her as he fell.” She was watching a pair of students at the Gryffindor table squabble over the last slice of pie. 

 

Severus wasn’t surprised. Filch was uncommonly fond of that cat. “Surely it could not have been that bad? Most of the jokes are short lived, weak examples of magic.” 

 

“Mmm. From what Hermione said, it was the combination that created the danger. After she was done with him, she had it out with George Weasley.” Minerva drummed her fingers very slowly on the table. The knuckles were beginning to become overlarge.

 

“Granger was involved in this too? Is there no calamity devoid of her influence!” He tried to make it sound as though he were amused. He must have failed as Minerva turned to glare at him.

“She didn’t have to do it, Severus. He thinks the world of her now. She’s even managed to cure his lumbago, although she claimed it was something from the cabinet that must have fixed it, not her own skill.”

 

He tried to change the subject. “I’m surprised Mrs Norris is still alive. Survived two wars.” 

 

“That cat is his entire world, Severus.” Her soft tone was mournful. This wasn’t gossip to her; Minerva considered the man family. 

 

Cowed, Severus asked, “What is to be done? Is there someone, like Hagrid or Grubbly-Plank, who might be able to work with Mrs Norris?” He supposed Scamander was the closest to a creature healer that he’d met. 

 

“Hagrid couldn’t find anything wrong. Recommended feeding her Dragon liver. She didn’t like it.” 

 

“Shame. What will become of him if she passes?” 

 

Minerva drained the dregs of her goblet, setting it back down in front of her. “That will be up to him, won’t it? He could withdraw from everyone and wait for God. On the other hand, he could find the strength to move on without her, take what pleasure in the time he has left, wherever it might be found. Life or Death. It isn’t as easy a choice as it sounds.” 

 

Severus digested the Headmistress’ words in silence. She wasn’t just talking about Argus Filch.  

 

She patted Severus on the shoulder. “You should make a point of going to see him sometime. He’s always been fond of you.” 

  
  


* * *

 

Hermione checked the time. Draco was  _ late.  _ He had agreed - after extensive persuasion and extracting a promise that she’d go out with him - to come with her to Ronald Weasley’s birthday party at the Burrow as moral support. Molly was plotting, she just knew it. 

 

“Right, ready then?” Draco sauntered up to her. He had agreed to meet her at St Mungo’s, as she’d had teaching rounds to supervise that morning. Rested and smelling like he’d just stepped out of shower, he leaned in to peck her on the cheek. 

 

She returned the affection with a slight smile. “Thanks, Draco. I really appreciate you giving up your afternoon for this.”

 

“Oh, I’ll make you work for it later, don’t you worry, love.” As he drew back, he smiled. “You look nice.” She had not put on scrubs, it was a rest day for her team; they’d been on call last night. 

 

Intending to compliment him in turn, the sight of him in a Chudley Cannons orange jersey made her choke out, “What are you wearing!?” 

 

Cracking a grin, Draco shrugged. “I thought about charming my hair red so I could blend in, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting and honestly I’d look terrible as a ginger. This was the next best thing.”  He offered her an arm, “Shall we?” 

 

Reeling and impressed, she accepted. “Let’s!” 

 

Draco had a knack for side-along Apparition that was smooth, and her skirt barely flared as they stepped into the Ottery St Catchpole afternoon. It was windy and cold, but there were signs that Spring was just around the corner. Pulling open the gate, Draco ushered her into the yard. 

 

Dread sprouted in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. Draco was being nice. Everything so far was going well. Therefore, something Awful was about to happen. They were at the door before she knew it, and Molly was there to greet them. 

 

“Hermione! Oh, I had hoped you would come.” The warmth in her manner faded noticeably as she greeted the Slytherin who’d tormented her youngest son. “And Draco. Nice to see you too.”

 

Letting go of Draco’s arm, Hermione gave Mrs Weasley the expected hug. 

 

“Tut tut, Hermione. You’re still too thin. Don’t Healers take care of themselves? I suppose if you’d had a husband... but the less said on that subject the better.” There it was, the first shot of Molly’s campaign. 

 

Draco bore the lack of comment on his own appearance with tolerance, stepping past Mrs Weasley without offering a hug. She’d busied herself, looking about the yard in a manner suggestive that Molly wasn’t interested in smothering him with her brand of maternal charm. 

 

“I don’t understand why people are always in such a rush to marry me off. I’d make a terrible wife.” 

 

“That’s where you are wrong, Hermione. You just haven’t found the right man yet. Mark my words, someday he will find you and you will understand at last.” 

 

Hermione decided to put her foot down now. Maybe it would stop Molly in her tracks. “A witch needs a wizard like a shrake needs a two-wheeler, Mrs Weasley.” 

 

“Don’t be silly, dear.” Molly hung up Hermione’s light jacket. “Wizards and witches were made for one another.” 

 

Those words were the red satin cape to Hermione’s enraged bull, goading her into imprudent frankness. “Traditionally, marriage most benefits women because they lack the physical strength, but I’ve got magic, haven’t I? I don’t need help getting things off of the top shelf, I’ve got magic. Heavy objects? Lightening charm. A good Reparo allows me to do my own repairs about the house and I don’t have to deal with a slob sitting on the couch in only his pants.” 

 

Smiling, Molly crossed her arms, not perturbed in the least. “Yes, you’ve always been so strong, so independent.” 

 

Nostrils flaring, Hermione went on, “Wizards expect care. Entitled shits, the lot of you.” She glanced at Draco, daring him to contradict her. 

 

He wasn’t stupid, so he stood with his hands in his pockets, a mild smile of interest on his face. 

 

“Messes are left to the women in the family to solve time after time. Soiled diapers? A witch is considered lucky if the father, who caused half of that mess by rights, changes them even once. Broken heart? Mum’s problem. Insulted the boss? Wife will fix it. Hurt feelings and arguments? All up to us to back down and make amends!” She knew she was getting out of line, but she needed to be understood. 

 

Molly’s smile was fading. “It is not a burden if there is love in your heart, sweetheart. It becomes your privilege.” 

 

“That-!” Hermione pointed at Molly, “- is poisonous drivel fed to all of us by the Patriarchy. It is my special treat to do all of the scut work? I think not. They play on witch’s better natures, manipulating any of us who won’t fall in line with guilt, insinuating that we aren’t good enough if we feel otherwise.” She was of half a mind to turn right back around and leave.

 

Ginny, bless her, stepped up to Hermione and slipped her hand into Hermione’s. “Hermione isn’t wrong, mum. What are you lot good for? The sex is the best part, really, but that’s a trap if the woman isn’t interested in a family.”

 

Draco smirked at Ginny, “Potter’s that good, is he?” 

 

“Ginny!” Molly was scandalized.

 

Standing tall, Ginny grinned at Draco. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

 

“I might...” Draco waggled his eyebrows, making her giggle. 

 

Ronald wandered over with a lager in one hand and a paper crown on his head, set at a jaunty angle. “Draco! This is a surprise. Come to pay homage?” 

 

“Weasley is our king, wasn’t it?” Draco sang the words, reminding everyone of that particularly bad time. Now, it sounded like a complement. 

 

Ginny grinned at her brother before she tugged Hermione away. “Come on. You have to say hello to Harry. His boss gave him a few hours off for the occasion.” The pointed glare aimed at Ron was only half a joke.

 

“It’s my prerogative.” Ron stuck his tongue out, glaring at his sister’s retreating form. “Nyah.” He turned back to Draco and commented, “It was nice of you to stand in with Hermione. She was talking about not coming today.” 

 

Draco drawled. “Well now, it only seems polite to support my old friends.” He paused, flashing a sharp grin. “You haven’t changed an iota, have you Weasley? How old are you now? Twelve? Might hit puberty soon.” Ron was sensitive about his body, with the inability to grow a beard and thin shoulders he’d never filled out. He was plenty tall though, having half a head on Draco. 

 

Laughing, Ronald shook hands with him. “Right, I reckon it’s just that I know how to have a good time. Nice Jersey, Malfoy. I didn’t take you for a Cannons fan.” 

 

“Trying to blend in. I thought about colouring my hair but it would have been too basic. I wouldn’t wish to give offence.” 

 

The incredulity on Ronald’s face as he tried to decode the statement was delightful. Hermione let herself be tugged out of the room after giving Draco a little wave of acknowledgement.  She was going to have to pay him back for this, and it wasn’t going to be cheap. 

  
  


* * *

 

“Mum’s an unstoppable force. There’s a muggle author who put it neatly. I don’t remember the wording exactly. Something like, It’s a universal truth that an unattached wizard who has a good job has to marry. Whether he is straight or not.”  

 

Severus was chatting with Charlie Weasley. “You could tell her.” 

 

“I’ve tried. She won’t listen. Thinks I’m a deviant, that it is just a phase. She’s convinced that Hermione’s the one for me. Tried to tell me that she’s almost a man as it is. Ridiculous. Anyone with eyes knows that’s not the case.” 

 

Sympathy moved Severus to ask, “Did she really poison you? Your own mother.” 

 

“For my own good. She said it was only a little poisoning. Had Hermione’s schedule down pat and all.” 

 

Snorting, Severus took a sip of his drink. It was non-alcoholic. Tea. He’d no intention of running into Granger with anything that might cloud his judgement any further than it already was. “You could press charges, you know.” 

 

“Against my own Mum? No, I’d never.” 

 

He hadn’t been serious. Not really. 

 

“Uh, oh. Incoming.” Charlie, to his credit, was not a coward. He’d turned out well, and it amused Severus to think that technically, Charlie was now his senior. He had a bit of grey showing in his well-manicured beard, but otherwise, he was quite fit, a paragon of masculinity in its prime. It made Severus wonder how he stood up in comparison. 

 

“It won’t take a moment, dear, just look him over, won’t you? I am so worried.” Molly was towing Granger over bodily, having somehow latched onto her wrist like a devil’s snare in the dark. She wasn’t letting go and Granger’s expression was murderous. 

 

“I’m  _ fine _ , Mum.” Charlie didn’t like it any more than Hermione. 

 

Molly arrived, huffing with the effort. “Don’t you talk back to me, Charles Weasley. I insist that you allow Healer Granger here to look you over. You’ve been looking rather peaky and I think you could do with a little care.” 

 

Pulling free, Hermione massaged her wrist with a frown. Severus stiffened, incensed at the manhandling. 

 

Sighing, Charlie jerked his head in the direction of the stair. “Come on, then. Let’s go upstairs, plenty of spare rooms. I did tear a hamstring last week.” 

 

Severus thought he could hear a growl coming from the Healer as she passed him to follow Charlie. It was kitten-ish. Endearing. 

 

Shaking himself he moved to follow. A clawed hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned to see Molly Weasley watching the pair disappear from view with a twinkle in her eye, just like the one Albus used to have when he thought himself clever. 

 

“No, Severus. Stay here with me. I wanted them to have a little time to themselves.” 

 

“For a quick diagnostic like that? It would have been the work of a moment, and there’s no reason they couldn’t have done it down here.” 

 

Cooing, she let go of his shoulder. “They wanted privacy, I think. My Charlie’s always been sweet on Hermione.” Merlin, the old hag had a strong grip. He should not have been surprised when he was told that she’d been the one to off Bellatrix Lestrange. Molly was just as dangerous, but possibly more obsessed. 

 

“In a brotherly way, I think, Molly.” 

 

The woman let go of him to fret. “Oh, that girl! If she’d just exert herself a little, he’d be putty in her hands.” 

 

“You really think so?” He considered her, “Haven’t you enough grandchildren?” 

 

Joy softened her face as she crooned, “No. Never. I  _ love  _ babies.”

 

“Have you considered a career in daycare, Molly?” He flashed a crooked grin, “I hear they actually pay you to play with infants.” 

 

Molly shook her head. “I might look into that, but it isn’t really the point, is it? Charlie’s single still, and he’s 40. Hermione isn’t getting younger, you know. She’s already...” She dropped her voice down to a near-whisper, “thirty-three.” 

 

“So?” He was familiar with the notion of women having an expiration date, like eggs at the grocers. He’d thought it a misconception limited to muggles.

 

“Soon her natural charms are going to fade, Severus. You’ve seen it. She’s so resistant to falling in love. I worry that it will never happen for her and she’s such a good heart. Always willing to help, no thought for herself. That’s her problem, really. She has an undesirable independence of thought that is very unattractive to men. That’s what ruined things with her and my Ronald.”

 

It wasn’t true at all. Hermione was quite capable of falling in love, and of all the wizards she’d fallen for him. As the words he’d said to her that night just under a month ago echoed in his ears, he felt that gentle tug in his chest. 

 

Molly continued to natter on, “She deserves a wizard who will take good care of her. If my Charlie can handle broody dragons, I’m certain he could manage her even when she gets into one of her moods.” 

 

It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “I handled the moodiest evil overlord of them all.” 

 

Turning to him in confusion, Molly was momentarily speechless. 

 

In for a pound, he added another shot. Hermione and Charlie both deserved better than what this woman was trying to force between them.  “And I’m not gay.” 

 

The witch’s voice rose in pitch and volume as she objected most vehemently. “But, you’re too old for her.” Her anger pushed her quite quickly to offer outright insult. “What are you? A broken down Potions Master, that’s what. Minerva told me that you’re still suffering from battle-shock and can’t take up your post in spite of the dangers that terrible French witch is posing.” 

 

“Madam, I’m two years younger than your Charlie, and what is more, I have no desire to go back to teaching. I did it as an expedient.” The truths stung to hear, and he found himself regretting that he’d said anything. 

 

“Mr Snape, you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. What of your friends, your family? A Death Eater with such a reputation? No, Severus. That wouldn’t do. Such a marriage would be a disgrace!” Well, you could always trust a Prewett to tell you exactly what was on their mind. 

 

Severus ground his teeth. “You presume much, Madam.”

 

“You can’t fool me with such insincerity.”  Not waiting for him to answer, she continued, “You’re so hung up on Lily that you’ll never seriously look at another woman.” She smiled smugly after this last argument. 

 

“If it doesn’t bother Healer Granger, why should I care what you think?” 

 

Molly stepped closer, her aura menacing. “Are you so delusional as to believe that there is any sort of relationship between you and Hermione?” 

 

“I have said no such thing.” 

 

Relaxing a trifle, Molly smoothed her skirts. “And will you promise not to pursue her? Surely you see it would be madness. I need to hear you say it, Severus.” 

 

“I will not promise anything of the kind, Madam. It is  _ you _ who forgets to whom you are speaking.” Severus drew on his own magic, the power rising up inside of him with a strength to more than match the threat being offered by this mean little witch. “It is you who should not trifle with me.”  

 

A strangled sound of feminine distress sounded from the hall. Molly and Severus both whipped their heads about to see Charlie and Hermione standing at the bottom of the steps, both of them round-eyed. 

 

Recalling where he was, Severus closed his eyes for a moment, exerting control over his magic and emotions, locking them down tight before he could do any real damage. “I am afraid I have stayed too long. I will take my leave of you, Mrs Weasley. Please convey my best wishes and excuses to Ronald.” 

 

Not waiting for Molly to find her voice once more, Severus turned and stalked away. He mused that it would have been more impressive if he’d been wearing his teaching robes. Damn casual fashion to hell. 

  
  


* * *

 

“Mother, what was that about?” 

 

Deflating, Molly Weasley put on a nervous smile. “Just a load of garbage. Mr Snape was just expressing his opinion about a few things. You know how he is; he delights in discord.” 

 

“Did you actually just try to bully Severus Snape, Mum? Blimey.” 

 

Wringing her hands, Molly turned to Hermione in appeal. “I was worried for you, dear. Snape seems to have gotten a silly idea in his head that he might prove a good match for you.” She laughed, a forced, tinny sound. “What a ridiculous notion. He had the nerve to suggest I was mistaken, that I am wrong to want you to marry Charlie. Good Godric, that old battle-worn crow? With our Hermione Granger!”

 

Hermione froze. 

 

Charlie had more presence of mind. “Well, at least he prefers women, Mum.” 

 

“Sweetie, don’t be silly. I am sure that the right witch…” 

 

Draco snorted from the side. He’d followed the trail of malevolence that Snape left after him, afraid of what he’d find. He knew better than to chase after his godfather when he was in that sort of mood. Here, Draco found a problem that he could help resolve easily and with pleasure. “I suppose there’s really no other way to bring this home to you, Mrs Weasley.” 

 

Storm clouds gathered over Molly’s would-be-kindly demeanour as she watched Draco cross the room to place a supportive hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Tears were standing in her eyes. She seemed to be in shock. 

 

Charlie eyed Draco warily as he approached. “What are you doing, Malfoy?” 

 

Fixing Charlie with a smirk, Draco looked the dragon tamer up and down. “I hear you fancy dragons. Care for a snog?” 

 

Hazel eyes alight with mischief, Charlie stepped closer. “Why, don’t mind if I do,  _ Draco. _ ” The emphasis with which he spoke the Slytherin’s first name was playful, suggestive even. 

 

The two wizards were close in height, although Draco was a little shorter and had to tilt his head up to make the approach. The kiss was soft, tentative, and he could tell that Charlie was holding back, perhaps out of a worry that Draco had only an interest in manipulating the situation. 

 

“What?! Augh! Charlie!?” 

 

The two wizards broke apart, and checking Mrs Weasley, Draco was satisfied to see her clutching at her chest in distress. 

 

Confused, Charlie whispered, “What just happened?” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Draco reached up, took Charlie’s face in his hands and dragged him back down. “I’m bisexual, you pillock.” With that, he kissed Charlie with all of the fervour that such a delightful specimen of wizard deserved. 

 

They were so lost in one another, that neither took notice when Molly Weasley fainted. Good thing there was a fully qualified healer standing by.   
  
  


* * *

 

Severus sat contentedly in his freshly appointed study, a retreat where he sought peace at the end of the long day he’d spent scouring the countryside for newly sprouting shoots of a herb he wished to cultivate on his property.

 

Draco had stopped bugging him to get out of the house, his attention taken up with his newest romance with dragon tamer Charlie Weasley. Severus had no interest in listening to his godson wax on lyrically about the ginger’s ‘cake.’ New love was insufferable. Intolerable, even. 

 

Lucius and Luna travelled, and last he’d seen them he had been surprised to find that Lucius was capable of developing a tan. He had received an invitation from Fred and George Weasley to their Birthday celebration, one to be held at a pub in London, notably NOT at the Burrow, so he had that to look forward to next week but all in all he was content with what was shaping up to be an idyllically quiet life. 

 

In addition to weekly tea with the ladies up at Hogwarts, he’d found himself in correspondence with Miss Shacklebolt. It had started after she’d sent him a touchingly earnest Thank You note, in which she’d asked a question. He was surprised to discover that he actually was motivated to answer, leading to a frequent exchange of ideas. 

 

The Fifth Year, desperate to do well on her OWLs in Potions, possessed a mind that was thoughtful and engaging. Unfortunately her education sorely lacked in fundamentals and he found he was obliged to re-explain concepts that she should have firmly mastered by the end of her third year. The stories she told of Professor Awfoie suggested there would be little hope for improvement as the woman was just as likely to blame the students for her mistakes and their own ignorance. In response, a cabbal of students organised a potions club, one that he’d been entreatied to mentor by the young Shacklebolt. 

 

He’d written back to her earlier that very day, expressing doubts that the students would be interested in his serious treatment of the subject. Experience taught him that he should expect a gaggle of girls more interested in cosmetic and basic household potions, having lost the boys from day one. As Potions Master he had allowed a similar club to exist, as he’d rather be supervising the students in a lab instead of cleaning up the messes they made in their dorms or being called at odd hours to the infirmary to treat accidental poisoning from amature attempts at something ridiculous. 

 

The sound of blunt wings beating on the nearest window pulled him out of his quiet reflection. 

 

When he opened the window a whole parliament of owls tumbled in, jockeying for spots on chair backs, the desk, and tops of shelves. Put in mind of some scraps he’d set aside he coaxed the group into dropping their notes one by one, only earning a morsel by leaving promptly. Every single envelope was from Hogwarts. Only one of them bore handwriting that he recognized. 

 

The first he opened contained a short missive penned with clearly legible handwriting. 

 

_ Dear Professor Snape:  _

 

_ Thank you for helping to sort us out after the Aegis Conflagrum accident. Thanks for the tip about the Irish Moss. My partner and I learned more from you in that ten minutes in the Infirmary than we’ve learned all year.  _

 

_ Please consider coming back to tutor us? There’s a group of us that are trying to teach ourselves, and Jan’s showed us some of your answers. Healer Granger was right, you’re the best.  _

 

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Mattheau Pendegast _

_ Fifth Year, Gryffindor  _

 

Severus ignored the clench of his heart at the mention of Healer Granger, snorting. He was flattered, strangely pleased by the student’s words although there was no subtlety. The second one he opened had luridly pink stationery that was decorated with hand-drawn hearts.

 

_ Dear Ma _ _ i _ _ ster Snape,  _

 

_ Is that the correct title? I think it should be Headmaster, or maybe Sir Snape because of your Order of Merlin, but Marge says not to be too heavy but I ask you, why shouldn’t I express respect?  _

 

_ Anyway. I wanted to ask you to come back and teach us because Madam  _ _ Awful _ _ Awfoie did something bad and none of us like her anyway. She’s a Dunderhead, or that’s what Madam Pomfrey said.  _

 

_ Oh, thank you for helping my brother Eric. My parents were pretty scared when they found out what happened. Mum said he might have DIED. Everyone was so worried that they didn’t see me listening but the looks on their faces said it was true. You saved him, you and Healer Granger and Madam Pomfrey.  _

 

_ Please please please please please please please please please pretty PLEASE come help.  _

 

_ Madam Pomfrey told me this morning that you might not want to come back because you are still getting better and I think she’d be upset if she found out I decided to write to you. But Janny, she’s a Slytherin Prefect, said it would be okay to try and that you’re really nice to people who aren’t too sloppy and sentimental.  _

 

_ Hugs and Kisses! _

_ Sincerly, _

 

_ Charlotte Prewett (But everyone calls me Lottie, although I suppose you will call me Miss Prewett) _

_ Second Year, Hufflepuff. _

 

His lips curving up in reluctant amusement, Severus set aside the missive and reached for the next one, this one in a messy hand, resorting to print in order to be decipherable. 

 

_ Dear Professor Snape,  _

 

_ My Godfather encouraged me to write to you. He faced down death and Voldemort and then went back to become an Auror to face some more, so perhaps he is not the best person to ask for advice, as a mere mortal myself. I don’t know if you remember me, but they say you knew my parents.  _

 

_ Believe me I didn’t wish to bother you but I am afraid I have no choice. You see, I want to pursue Healing, but in order to do that I’d need to get a NEWT in Potions, which requires a good grade on the OWL. After this year, I think I know less than I did last year, and I am very concerned. Draco Malfoy already turned me down, although he did point me in the direction of a few helpful texts.  _

 

_ I am not afraid of studying hard and am willing to put in the time to catch up. I have an allowance, and would be willing to pay for your help or if you prefer I can do some other sort of work for you. I don’t mind scrubbing or chopping, or even mucking out stables, although I’d rather not do that last.  _

 

_ In class today we waited for Madam Awfoie, and she never appeared, and there was a terrible smell in the room. The Baron came to tell us that we had a study period, and then tonight at dinner it was announced that Madam Awfoie would be indisposed indefinitely. The Headmistress looked pretty cheesed off, I’ve never seen her so angry! The rumour is that she dosed a whole sixth year class with a potion to make them like her.  _

 

_ Thank you for your time, and I apologize for any imposition.  _

_ Cordially,  _

 

_ Teddy Lupin  _

_ Fourth Year, Hufflepuff.  _

 

_ PS - Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny and my Grandmother, Andromeda Tonks all send their regards. _

 

Severus had skimmed this last one until he saw the name at the bottom. Frowning, he reread it back up from the top. The post script irritated him more the second read through. Although it was a very un-Hufflepuff tactic, he felt pressured by the mention of the student’s famous relations. The next letter was Miss Shacklebolt’s. 

  
  


_ Dear Professor Snape,  _

 

_ You may have already heard the news, but I wanted to tell you myself that Madam Awfoie is gone. She was fired, and the school is threatening to bring her up on charges for dosing a class with mind-altering potions to manipulate them. I am glad that she was caught before she could dose all of us. What a stupid woman!  _

 

_ We were meeting to study potions, that group I told you about, and I am sorry to say that you are likely getting a lot of owls from the school tonight. I should apologize as I know how much you value your privacy, for in my enthusiasm to share your insights I inadvertently gave the others the idea of writing to you. So for what it is worth, I am very sorry.  _

 

_ What I can’t apologise for is recognizing you for the Master of the subject that you are, and for wishing that you were well enough to come teach. I know it is a selfish whim, but you really are the best. While I am sure my family could afford to buy me an Apprenticeship, I’d much prefer to earn one on my own merits.  _

 

_ If you wish to cease our correspondence, I would understand as this is certainly more than anyone should be asking of you. I implore you, most earnestly, to reconsider your refusal of the offer the Headmistress almost certainly has already tendered to you.  _

 

_ Please sleep on it before you say no again, because Uncle Kingsley tells me any time I have a tough decision to make it is best to see how you feel about it in the morning. He gives pretty good advice. _

 

_ Sincerely,  _

 

_ Janelle Shacklebolt _

_ Fifth Year, Slytherin Prefect.  _

 

Severus set this note aside, not certain how to respond to the witch, or really to any of it. Would it be so bad to go back? He’d been able to stand being on the grounds. The castle welcomed him as warmly as an old friend. 

 

No. These children didn’t know what they were asking for — hadn’t they heard the stories of what life was like in his classroom? They would regret it when he showed up, demanding discipline and attention. 

 

“Am I really considering this?” He fingered the seal from another note, neat handwriting this time. Maybe a Ravenclaw. This was truly insane. 

 

Another tap at his window made him groan. This time he sent the owls away with a threat of hexing their pinions so they couldn’t come back. It didn’t deter them. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Minerva and Poppy sat side by side at the Breakfast table in the Great Hall, the events of the week prior casting a pall over the staff. The “morning” personalities already came and left, their disgusting levels of energy and enthusiasm did little to endear them to the rest of the staff at this hour on a Saturday. 

 

Longbottom was pondering the pages of the Quibbler over tea when a silvery shape jumped through the window to land neatly on his head with a flurry of wings. It gripped onto Neville’s hair even as he ducked and tried to frighten the raven off by flailing his arms. The Patronus opened its sharp beak and the acerbic voice of Severus Snape assailed the Great Hall: 

 

**“Merlin’s moth eaten beard, stop sending owls you miscreants! This is harassment dressed up in nicety! Since you all are so painfully and persistently foolish, I will take the position so I can dock house points and give you all detention. Every LAST ONE OF YOU.** **_Especially you, Miss Shacklebolt_ ** **. Headmistress, you may expect me this afternoon to discuss terms. And do wipe that ridiculous smirk off of your face! I can see it all the way from Yorkshire.”**

 

Neville straightened up when he sensed the Patronus dissolve and looked about the hall in bewildered amusement. A buzz of excitement, enthusiastic cheers, and a smattering of applause answered the news. “Well, Gryffindor can kiss the House Cup goodbye.” He said this with a lopsided grin, laughing before adding; “Boy, I am glad I’m not them. They have no idea what they’ve signed up for.” 

 

Laughing, Minerva shook her head. “Once again the children found a way to win the hopeless battle in the darkest hour.” 

 

Scooting back her chair, the mediwitch chuckled quietly as she moved to stand. “I had better start in on a batch of calming draughts this afternoon. I have a feeling that having Severus back amongst us will take some getting used to.” 

 

Minerva looked over to the Slytherin table and met the satisfied gaze of Janelle Shacklebolt, acknowledging the Prefect’s success with an inclination of her head. “Ten points to Slytherin, Miss Shacklebolt.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to you guys for waiting patiently while I overhauled this chapter and double thanks to Havelocked for helping me bang it into shape twice! Also thanks to ScarletDewDrops for betaing, and to my alpha's SnapeLove and Coromandel. The next chapter is an extra that wasn't in the original and is 80% written. The last chapter is written already so bear with me!


	15. Chapter 12 1/4: I Tried To Carry The Weight Of The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to my dear beta, Havelocked  
> May joy and opportunity at your door knock    
> Or a stranger, tall and dark  
> Full of wit and sexy snark  
> Impeccably dressed with a handsome snozzle - hawked
> 
>  
> 
> A special thanks to my betas, Havelocked (who has a birthday today), and ScarletDewDrops.  
> This chapter is mostly new material, and the old is only one scene - the first.

Chapter 12 ¼: I Tried To Carry The Weight of the World

  


Draco sipped his wine, rolling it about his mouth thoughtfully. It was an excellent vintage, a perfect pairing for the superior repaste, which he’d expected from this particularly exclusive establishment. Today everything had gone perfectly, still problems weighed on his mind, distracting his thoughts from the celebration of his family’s felicity. Fortunately, his two dining partners were not taxing his conversational talents since the couple were fully occupied up with mutual adoration, redoubled after the happy events of the day.

 

Luna and Lucius, at long last, were engaged to be married.

 

Lucius had proposed earlier that day during a specially orchestrated tea party set in the gardens of his family’s Hogsmeade cottage. The place was particularly fitting as it was in the parlour of this home that they’d first met and fallen in love.

 

The event was planned in deference to Luna’s twins, both 12 now and still in their first year at Hogwarts, escorted from the castle by a very solemn, buttoned-up Professor Snape. Severus had finally acquiesced and was serving as the substitute Potions teacher, replacing Professor Awfoie to the satisfaction of many.

 

If anyone was expecting the lads to react poorly, they would have been surprised. Lorcan shrugged. “Cool.” Lysander, who was slightly more expressive asked, “Is Charlie here too?” Charlie was not there; he’d gone back to his work in Romania. The boys had met Lucius before this, and the couple had taken pains to include them in the courtship.

 

Admittedly it was a whirlwind affair, for Lucius had no intention of losing Luna again and, as always, Luna knew her own heart quite well.

 

It had amused him earlier to wonder what Narcissa would have said about Luna becoming Draco’s stepmother, and he’d allowed himself to miss his mother’s presence. When Draco had informed her, she’d professed to be genuinely happy for Lucius. The emotions surrounding the divorce were stale, overshadowed by the pain and grief the family suffered in the fallout of the war. Narcissa had subsequently reinvented herself, out from under the shadow of Lucius’ shame. No, his parents would never have come back together. Azkaban had seen to that.  

 

What preyed on Draco’s mind tonight was his disappointment in his godfather, the great war hero. The wizard was brave enough to face certain death, but a witch who’d confessed her love for him? Run! Prospects for interference were bleak, for it was deuced difficult to get Severus away from his professional duties; infinitely more so now that he had an excuse to slide back into his old ways.

 

All of the hard work Draco had put in to drag his godfather out of the 1690s and into modern fashion failed. Snape had even grown his hair back out past his shoulders. It couldn’t hide his misery.

 

“So... Severus looked like he’d been chewed up and spat out by a Ukrainian Ironbelly.”

 

Luna and Lucius were busy rubbing noses, and it took them a moment for his father to shake free of the glow of mutual lust. They were in a restaurant: private enough, but honestly, it was embarrassing to have to witness his father behaving like a fifth year who’d just discovered the fairer sex. Blinking, Lucius straightened up.

 

“Yes. He did.”

 

Not one to be easily deterred, Luna nuzzled into her lover’s neck with a sigh. “If only everyone could be as happy as we are.”

 

Frowning at his father who’d half closed his eyelids in evident enjoyment, Draco asked, “Do you agree with me now that something must be done?”

 

It was Luna who answered, “Why? Love will bring them together in its own time.”

 

“Because both Hermione and Severus are so hard-headed that they’re avoiding one another. When they do interact they treat each other with damnable courtesy. What I wouldn’t give for them get into an open spat.” He shifted, adding, “And I am certain that Hermione’s schedule has become increasingly busy as an evasive tactic.”  

 

It wasn’t exactly fair of him to think that of her. She’d been involved in some of the planning for the upcoming Memorial Ceremonies, which were less than a month away now. Still, he couldn’t help but expect that it would continue in this way unless someone did something about it.

 

Lucius suggested, “They won’t be able to avoid one another with our wedding.”

 

Straightening up to pull away, Luna bubbled with enthusiasm, “Oh, yes, Luc! Great idea. You could have Severus as Best Man, and I’ll ask Hermione.”

 

Lucius looked over at Draco, a faint line of concern forming between his eyebrows. “I had intended to ask you to stand up with me, son.”

 

Draco was touched. “Thanks, father. I do appreciate it, but Luna’s idea is a good one.  Neither of them would turn this down. I’ll see about getting Ginny involved, too.” He leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk, “I’ve talked her around to join us in the Snanger camp.” He paused, “That is, if you don’t mind, Luna?”

 

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. Ginny’s always been a particular friend of mine. Maybe Dr Lundar could come too? And dear Charlie, of course.”

 

The suggestion had Draco simultaneously intrigued and apprehensive. His boyfriend and the witch that got away in the same room? Could be delicious. Or more likely, it would be a disaster. “We need not set a guest list so early.” Nostradamus knows, Draco’s track record with romantic partners was quite colourful and remarkable for a noticeable absence of commitment to his father’s frustration.

 

“You worry too much. I’ll take care of it, Draco.” She smiled her special Luna smile, serene and dreamy. He didn’t mind having her around, even if it did mean strange things showing up about the house. She did have a calming effect on both him and his father, not typical for a stepmother-to-be.

 

He opened his mouth to ask another question but stopped himself as the adults were practically in one another’s laps once more. Shifting gears, Draco said, “Right. Well, I’ve got a potion to attend to, and I must have my beauty sleep. I think I’ll leave you two lovebirds to finish celebrating.”

Standing, he shook his father’s hand, enjoying the embarrassment on the wizard’s face. Merlin, he looked at least a decade younger now. “Congratulations.” He turned and brought Luna’s hand to his lips in a chivalric gesture, “I wish you both lasting joy and happiness.”

 

“Thank you, Draco.” They were so in tune they’d said it simultaneously, and laughingly dissolved into tender looks that speeded his hasty retreat.

 

Draco took himself off to pay the bill and recruit another co-conspirator. Preferably one who wasn’t completely taken up with revolting public displays of affection. Guh.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Severus was feeling unequal to his duty as Best Man, and as a consequence, he was dreading tonight’s festivities.

 

Last week, over dessert at a lovely little restaurant in London, Lucius popped the question: “Severus, I’ve discussed this with Draco and I’d like for you to stand up with me when Luna and I take our vows.”

 

In retrospect, Severus would have liked to blame the wine, but he’d maintained strict abstinence. Now he was left to wonder if he were _Confunded,_ as surely only a weakened mental state would lead him to agree to such a thing. And yet he had.

 

Feeling the severity of his mistake, he’d gone to Draco and strongly suggested that perhaps he would be better suited as best man. Draco was better at party planning and after all, he was Lucius’ bloody son and heir.

 

Draco flatly refused to oblige him, delighting in Severus’ discomfort before adding to it by dropping a real dung bomb. “Oh, and by the way, Severus. You probably should know that Luna has asked Hermione to serve as her Maid of Honour, and Ginny Potter her bridesmaid.”

 

“And has Healer Granger accepted? What with her busy schedule, managing all of her friend’s lives?” Severus’ tone was rapier-sharp. His heart, however, had skipped a few beats. The errant thing was torn between terror and exhilaration.  Granger was too busy for such things. She’d have to know that he’d be involved. She was too smart to allow this to happen, _surely?_

 

Turning back to look at him, Draco smirked. “Of course. When has Hermione Granger ever stepped back from a challenge, especially if she has a chance to boss people about? I thought about backing out myself, but father wouldn’t allow that, and well, he’s set me opposite to the lovely Mrs Potter. It could be worse.” Those steel grey eyes looked back at him with an abominable Dumbledorian twinkle. “I wouldn’t blame you if you changed your mind.”

 

Severus stared back at Draco, mind still trying to grasp that he’d been asked to stand up next to the witch who’d had him tied up in knots of inner conflict. The one witch of all of them that he’d gone out of his way to avoid. He narrowed his eyes as a spark of suspicion kindled to life in the maelstrom of dismay. What exactly had Lucius told him? “And why on earth would I do that?”

 

“Really it is natural as Granger can be so loathsomely irritating. I can barely stand her some days. She is, however, great fun to tease so I find a way to manage. Can’t really avoid her at St Mungo’s.” He made a face, wrinkling his nose as though there were something foul nearby.

 

Lifting his chin, Severus looked away before barking, “Don’t be ridiculous. I assume that she will maintain civility for the sake of her friend’s happiness, therefore I shall do the same.”

 

A flicker of concern marred Draco’s smirk of amusement before he answered. “Father mentioned that you and Granger had a falling out, which is hardly a secret for whenever anyone mentions her name you generally get up and leave the room.”

 

Sneering, Severus answered, “Anyone that knows me would hardly expect me to break out in raptures of joy about the interfering Princess of Gryffindor. I find it better for all concerned if I don’t offer my opinion and I don’t see why I should be imposed upon to endure any lengthy discussions involving her. She’s an annoyance, nothing more and nothing less.”

 

Rubbing his hands together, palm to palm, Draco smiled broadly. “Oh good. That clears the air. Now, I have been tasked with inviting you to a mandatory strategy meeting.”

 

Severus shook his head, refusing. “I’m busy with exams coming up. Just let Granger assign me something and consider it done.”

 

“No can do, sir. Everyone absolutely must be there. I’ve seen the agenda, colour coded and all.”

 

That brought a snort from Severus. “And so the torture begins.”

 

Arching a brow at his godfather’s incredulity, Draco chortled. “Some people never change, and I for one am going to take advantage of it. Nothing could go wrong with Healer Granger pulling the strings, and if there’s bloodshed she’s handy to have about.”

 

“Bloodshed?!” Severus was taken aback. He’d thought the families happy for the upcoming union. “What could possibly bring any of us to violence over such a _happy_ occasion.” He couldn’t help leaning on the ‘happy’ with annoyance.

 

Draco’s eyes were alight with mirth. “Weaslette is going to attempt to dump the dirty work on us. She’s already trying to make me do the menus. I think I’ve a laceration from the edge of her tongue but I fought her off. I’ll want reinforcements next time.”  

 

“You still call her that? No wonder you are expecting violence. How’s Granger at spell reversal?”

 

Unconsciously, one hand rose to check Draco’s forehead in a nervous gesture that made Severus’ lips twitch in amusement. It was the very spot where he’d once been hexed with a dick. “Undefeated so far.” Those grey eyes widened, giving away the moment that Draco realised what he was doing and attempted to convert the gesture into one of smoothing his well coiffed hair.

 

Lowering his voice to a deadly purr, Severus said, “Is that so?” Severus’ wand twirled in his fingers.

 

It was satisfying to watch Draco turn another shade paler, which was remarkable. Any paler and you’d be able to see right through him.

 

Clearing his throat, Draco turned back to the original message. “In any case, we need to discuss the details of the engagement party which is coming up very soon, and the divvying up of responsibility for tasks for the Wedding. I want you there to back me up so Weaslette… excuse me, _Ginny_ doesn’t foist all of the heavy lifting on us.”

 

He’d always thought of Draco as a bit of a coward, so Severus accepted the explanation with a tight nod as Draco pulled out an envelope from his breast pocket.

 

“Here’s the address. Ginny’s providing vittles. Be there by six for drinks and plan to make a night of it, Godfather.” He leaned in, “And don’t even _try_ to beg off. The Headmistress was consulted in picking the night. She won’t get you off the hook. Not even for a mass-poisoning.”

 

Draco’s intelligence proved to be correct: Granger already took the precaution of checking with Minerva regarding his schedule. It was a thoroughly underhanded move, thinly disguised as courtesy. The Headmistress assured him that his time would be freed up for Wedding-related events, squelching any hope of respite from that quarter.

 

Standing in front of the mirror in his quarters and feeling quite put-upon, Severus prepared mentally to spend an evening at Harry-bloody-Potter’s home.  They were to discuss wedding plans between a wisp of a girl who’d only been 17 a few months ago in his mind, and Lucius Malfoy. It was all too ruddy surreal.

 

Worst of all; tonight he was to face Hermione Granger.

 

After classes he’d begrudgingly retreated to make himself presentable, for a day in the potions classroom never left one smelling like a rose. After a shower, he’d shaved again, ridding himself of the five o'clock shadow.

 

Moving slowly, he finished buttoning up the familiar frock coat, and ran a hand over his hair, smoothing down an errant strand that wasn’t laying flat. Then, on impulse, he decided to tie it back in the simple black thong he’d used months ago, his mind turning back to other occasions he’d spent in front of a bathroom mirror.

 

The face looking back didn’t look like it belonged to the same wizard who’d emerged from the time trap months ago. He’d put on weight, the lines on his face had softened, and the scars on his neck were fading. His time back at the school had been better for him than he’d expected, the rhythms of teaching bringing back a solid grounding that he’d needed. He found that he enjoyed the society of his fellow faculty members. Evenings in the lounge were surprisingly pleasant now that he need not keep everyone at arm’s length.

 

The reflection spoke back in his own voice. “Not bad, son. Pity, you’re still an ugly git. Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, ken ye?” Severus Snape blew out a breath and took one last pained look at his reflection, the enchantment making an unmistakably rude gesture. He’d modified the personality himself, as he couldn’t handle a bevy of insincere compliments. This version was more like his dear old Grandpa, God rest his soul. With a snort he gave it back a two-fingered salute before returning to his lab to retrieve a hostess gift he’d made for Ginevra Potter.

 

It wouldn’t do to keep Lady Destiny waiting. She could be a vindictive tart when slighted.

  


* * *

 

 

Hermione fiddled with her quill, looking over the agenda she’d laid out after meeting with Lucius and Luna last week. She’d been absolutely thrilled when Luna asked her to be her Maid of Honour, to stand alongside her as they said their vows. It made a sort of Luna-sense, although surely she would not have blamed her for if she chose to leave Hermione in the cold after what she’d done. As it was, Hermione was determined to do her utmost to help in whatever way she could to make this wedding play out without a hitch.

 

The sofa beside her dipped as Draco dropped into the spot next to her. He had spent the weekend in Romania and Hermione noted with repressed mirth that he looked shagged out. He was calm, relaxed, and had a tell-tale wince whenever he had to move. Yes, if she had to bet, she’d say that Draco hadn’t seen much of the Dragon Preserve at all.

 

Stretching languidly, he placed an arm on the sofa-back. Anyone else and she’d have worried he was making a move on her. Especially as he leaned in to look closer at the parchment cradled in her lap.

 

“A time table? Already?” He wrinkled his nose and leaned in further, squinting. “Did you actually include our work schedules?”

 

Feeling her cheeks warm, Hermione answered, “Yes, of course. All of us are very busy, so it will be important to coordinate carefully.” She’d been opening her mouth to defend herself further when a shift in the room made her look up.

 

There, in the doorway to the parlour, Professor Snape stood, looming like a spectre from the past. Her breath caught and something went wrong in her stomach as she took in the lines on his face and the stiff way that he moved.

 

She’d known that he’d finally been forced to take up teaching again, but to see him buttoned up tightly in his old uniform was unsettling. At least he’d left the billowing robes back at the castle.

 

A droll, disapproving voice spoke in her ear. “Well. That’s depressing. At least you know you won’t have to account for his social life. He’s back to playing the buttoned up vicar, and there are no tarts to be seen.”

 

Hermione realised belatedly that Draco had noticed the wizard’s entrance as well, his grey eyes following along as Snape exchanged curt pleasantries with Mrs Potter and handed her what was undoubtedly something Useful. It didn’t look to her like a bottle of wine or other spirits. A potion perhaps? Medicinal?

 

Perhaps following her own line of thoughts, Draco whispered, “I bet you ten galleons that’s an anaphrodisiac.”

 

That startled a nervous laugh from her. “Draco! You’re awful.” He really was, although she wouldn’t put it past Snape, as he’d complained bitterly about the prospect of having to teach more Potters.

 

Not wanting to be caught staring, she looked about the room, noting the occupants. “Where’s Luna? And Lucius? This is their party.”

 

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug before flopping back to recline comfortably on the couch beside her once more. “They’ll be here. Dad’s on a Luna-calendar. You’ll want to make allowances for that in your fancy schedule.”

 

Even her advanced studies in Arithmancy were unlikely to help her predict those variances,  but Hermione grumbled, keeping her thoughts to herself.

 

Next to her, Draco shifted enough to the side so that he could pull out his phone. Probably checking for messages from Charlie. A pang of envy tempted her to look, and she found that he was looking at a video. It was her turn to squint and lean in. “What… who is that, Draco?”

 

Smiling in what he probably thought was a charming fashion he turned the screen so that she could see better. The recording was amateur, and the lighting on the stage washed out the performers so it was difficult to recognize at first.

 

“These videos are incredibly popular, Granger. Have you ever thought about quitting in favour of a singing career?”

 

Groaning in horror, Hermione snatched the phone from Draco and turned the volume up a little. The melodic lines of “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls assaulted her ears as she tried to recall more of that night they’d gone to karaoke. “Who recorded us?”

 

“I don’t know, but you girls have over a thousand likes.” Smug, Draco flicked a glance over at Ginny.

 

Hermione growled. “You! Take it down, Draco. I swear I’ll hex you so hard that even Master Corvus won’t be able to set you right!” She flipped the video down, looking for the identity of the person who claimed ownership.

 

“Can’t.”

 

“Won’t, you mean!”

 

“I think you, Romana and Luna are all quite talented. Ginny, did you see this?”

 

To Hermione’s horror, Ginny appeared at her other elbow. “What? Oh! Yes, George floo’d us about it a few days ago.” She smiled. “I think it’s brilliant. The Princess of Gryffindor and her enchanting voice.” She’d used a dramatic voice, as though she were introducing their act to an audience.

 

Hermione buried her face in her hands. “Oooooh no, dear gods. Who can see this?” Someone tugged the phone out of her hands and she didn’t resist.

 

Harry’s voice carried over to her. “Anyone. It’s a publically available video.” He must be looking now too. “You do look nice, Hermione.”

 

There was a scratchy cut-off but Hermione’s hopes that it was over were immediately dashed. The opening melody to the number she’d done on her own came on and she shrunk into herself further, cheeks burning.  

 

This was a _nightmare._ Voices nearby chattered, a low noise that was beyond her comprehension in her current state of embarrassment.

 

She muttered to Ginny. “I think I’ll floo Luna, to make sure she hasn’t forgotten.” She fled, determinedly not looking behind her for surely Severus was standing there, sneering at her, and she couldn’t face his censure right now. She still was surprisingly sensitive; although she’d told herself there was nothing left between them, the possibility of enduring more rejection was incredibly painful.

 

She’d sung well that night, allowing her love for him to fuel her performance when she was struggling under the weight of its pull. It was magical, fleeting. Ephemeral.

 

That night was so long ago.

 

Before she’d quit as his healer.

Before she’d almost ruined things for Luna.

Before that disastrous night that she’d bared her heart only to be rejected. It had been months, but her wound still bled, if not worse now than it had before.

 

He loathed her, yet she couldn’t return his enmity, no matter how hard she tried.

 

What was she going to do?

 

The street before her distorted as tears filled her eyes and she sat down heavily on the step, trying to pull herself together before she had to return to the group.

  


* * *

 

 

Ginny had pulled out an iPad, one that was much like the one of Draco’s that Hermione’d spectacularly wrecked with her vindictive wild magic.

 

Severus moved closer, wondering what it was that had driven the Princess of Gryffindor from the room. It must be truly awful, and morbid curiosity drew him in. “Something that Granger doesn’t excel in? This I must see.”

 

The quality of the video was fuzzy. It was a true surprise when a warm alto cut through the noise. “Darling don’t be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years.” *

 

Severus found himself hovering, rapt.

 

“Time stands still.  Beauty all that he is. I will be brave. I will not let anything take away what is standing in front of me.”

Another voice, a silver soprano joined in and Luna’s face joined Hermione’s on the screen. “And all along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me. I have loved you for a thousand...”

 

It was hard to breathe, for his throat was inexplicably tight. Feeling lost, Severus wrenched his eyes away from the screen to follow the direction in which Hermione had gone.

 

Had he expected her to return so soon?

 

Inwardly Severus cursed, his mind starting in on the theoretical hurdles that needed to be addressed in order to create a curse that would send Draco’s bollocks to the moon. For science.

  


* * *

 

 

Hermione managed to calm herself and was meditating upon the ants running about the sidewalk when Luna and Lucius popped into view. She picked her head up from her knees at the sound, and on seeing her friends, she broke into a relieved smile. “Luna! Lucius!” She took Lucius’ gallantly offered hand, allowing him to help her stand up.

 

“What are you doing out here, Hermione?” That was Lucius, concern lacing his voice.

 

Luna stepped up to her side, an arm linking with hers before she could manufacture an answer. “Wrackspurts. Terrible, Hermione. No wonder you came out here. They don’t like sunshine, very good idea.” She squinted, “These appear unusually tenacious. Must be their big noses; they can smell discord, I’d say.”

 

Saved from having to answer for herself, Hermione smiled weakly. “I suppose that must be true.” Shaking herself, she contrived to warm her tone and relax, not wishing to cast a pall over the proceedings. “Everyone else is already here.”

 

Ears straining against the hope that Ginny and Draco had found something else to watch or even talk about, Hermione walked with Luna inside.

 

It was Draco’s number that was up, to her relief. “Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye…” **

 

Harry laughed. “How did you not get tossed out after Rick-Rolling the whole Pub?”

 

Draco burst in with indignation, “Are you kidding me? That was brilliant. I have fifty more likes than Luna and Hermione. People _love_ me.”

 

Reaching over, Ginny tapped the screen to stop the playback, pulling her iPad from Draco’s hands. “It’s lame, Draco, really awful taste. I bet half of those aren’t real accounts.”

 

“I bet you couldn’t do better.” Draco stood up, facing Ginny.

 

Hermione felt something in the air change, casting a furtive glance towards Professor Snape confirmed that he was standing at the window once more, completely disengaged from the proceedings.

 

“I wager that Hermione, Luna, and I would make you look like the sad excuse for a wizard you are, Malfoy, in comparison.” She smirked at her friends, “We’ve got witchy moves.”  She twitched her hips to illustrate her meaning.

 

What? Wait, why was Ginny dragging her into this?

 

There was a manic gleam to Draco’s eye as he faced off against the redheaded witch. Hermione’s reflexive protest died on her lips, too late. “I challenge you, Ginevra Potter, to a contest of talent.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Ginny at last said something that was sensible. “As if you have a chance.”

 

“Scared, Potter?”

 

“You wish, _Malfoy_. I just don’t see why I should put out the effort. I already know I’m better than you are.”

 

“How about we make this interesting?” Draco looked over at Hermione and Luna contemplatively. “Make it worth your while, since the honour doesn’t seem to be enough of an inducement.”

 

Harry cleared his throat, “Draco, I doubt you have anything that Ginny wants.”

 

Leering, Draco glanced over at Harry. “If you only knew, Scarface.”

 

Turning a shade of ugly pink, Ginny appeared to be in danger of hexing the Slytherin.

 

“Son, I don’t think this is proper,” Lucius finally spoke up. Another voice of reason, one who wasn’t likely to be swayed by Draco’s taunting.

 

Hermione felt a rush of gratitude for the elder Malfoy.   _Yes! Tell him he’s a prat._

 

Rolling his eyes, Draco turned to Ginny. “Surely there’s some wedding related work that you’d fight to avoid?”

 

Mechanically, Hermione listed the tasks she’d identified thus far, “Venue, Decorations and flowers, Music, Ceremony, Cake and catering, Guestlist and invitations…”

 

Having more experience at weddings, Ginny jumped in. “That’s it!” Turning a feral grin on Draco, she poked a finger at his chest. “Penning all of those invitation envelopes. I absolutely loathe calligraphy.”

 

Beside Hermione, Luna brightened, “Oh, that’s a good idea! Draco has lovely handwriting. Who will we be performing for? Wootube?”

 

Snape finally spoke, “Absolutely not. Just because you crave attention, _Godson,_ doesn’t mean the rest of us are interested in that sort of exposure.”

 

Frowning, Draco shrugged. “We don’t have to record it, although I bet it would be really fantastic.”

 

Privately, Hermione was intrigued. She’d enjoyed Severus’- no, _Professor Snape’_ s voice when she was working with him. It would be nice to hear him sing again.

 

“What about the engagement party? That’d be perfect. Plenty of time to practice and there will be a band already. The other guests could be the judges.” Ginny walked over to stand on the other side of Luna. “We’ll be a team.”

 

Luna glowed. “Sounds like fun. I didn’t think this wedding planning could be so exciting!”

 

Smirking, Draco turned to Harry. “What about you, Potter? Care to back me up on the stage? Defend our wizard’s honour!”

 

Harry shook his head. “No way in hell, Malfoy.” He started, recalling that Lucius was here too. “I’ve nothing to prove, Draco. This is your Dad and Luna’s party.”

 

“Well…” Lucius seemed hesitant when Draco turned expectantly to him. “I am not sure if this is such a good idea.”

 

“What if I promised to patch you up if you break your hip, Mr Malfoy?” Hermione couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Where had that come from?

 

Brows raising in shock, Lucius turned his attention onto her. “You don’t think I have it in me, Healer Granger?”

 

Mind scrambling for something to say that wasn’t completely rude, she answered: “Well, it is two against three. I’d hate to see you overextend yourself.” She winced inwardly: that wasn’t tactful.

 

Ginny shot a glance over towards the Professor who was still pointedly standing with his back to the room. “She’s right, Draco. You should just give up now. You haven’t a hope on your own.”

 

Severus turned around to fix Lucius with a smirk that made Hermione’s heart seize. “It sounds to me that Mrs Potter is suggesting that she doesn’t think you have the stamina to take on two witches anymore.”

 

A wave of heat washed over Hermione. Anymore? What is this? And why was her heart fluttering in her chest? A choking sound came from somewhere nearby.

 

“Well, I could take all of them myself.” Draco’s pride asserted itself. “All in one night, for a song. It would be all too easy.”

 

Hands on her hips, Ginny scowled at Draco. “Merlin, some people never change, do they?”

 

Lucius and Severus were looking at each other, as though reading one another’s thoughts. After a moment, Snape arched an eyebrow and then nodded once. A deliberate, curt gesture. That was all Lucius needed, for he turned back to the rest of the room, his Best Man standing to his right shoulder. “We accept the terms, Mrs Potter. A contest of talent and skill, to be held at the Engagement party. Wizards against Witches.”

 

Ginny stepped forward and shook hands with Lucius, quick to specify her terms. “The losers have to address all of the invitations by hand. No hired help. _No magic._ ”

 

Gulping down a flare of foolish competitive enthusiasm, Hermione asked quietly, “So, just how many invitations do you expect to send out?”

 

His ice blue eyes laughed at her as Lucius answered, “Oh, nothing too extensive. About 500 invitees.”

 

Luna patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I won’t let Lucius hurt himself for pride’s sake. I’ve had him doing yoga, just like you suggested. He’s oh so much more...”

 

Hermione sighed in a long-suffering way, effectively cutting off Luna’s enthusiastic over-sharing revelation before it was too late. “Right, so that’s settled.” Time to get off of this topic entirely. She couldn’t smother the amused lilt as she tried to change the subject. “Now that we’ve all compared wands, we’ve other things to discuss.”

 

Harry, savior of the wizarding world came to the rescue once more.  “Like dinner! It’s ready if you all would care to join me in the dining room?”

 

As they filed out of the parlour, Hermione discovered a pair of glittering dark eyes watching her. She stopped, returning his direct gaze for what felt like a very long moment. When she looked away, she found the room emptied of all but the pair of them and the laden silence that existed between them.

 

What was going on behind that impenetrable stare? Her throat tightened with anxiety.

 

She’d lost sleep over what had happened at Ron’s party, trying to understand what it was that the Professor had intended when he told Mrs Weasley that he considered himself a possible match for her.

 

Had he changed his mind? Impossible. Shame started to seep in, filling the space where she’d let hope breach her carefully constructed walls of steel-clad logic.

 

The sound of Severus clearing his throat nearby startled her out of her thoughts. He had paused at the door next to her, opening a hand to indicate that she should precede him out of the room. His manners would have been equally appropriate with an elderly matron, or a casual acquaintance. An outsider

 

Blushing, she didn’t say anything, lest the uncomfortable silence transform into something much worse. The full force of her despair drained her confusion away, replacing it with terrible clarity.

 

There really wasn’t anything between them. He was silent, apathetic. _There was nothing left to say._

 

It might have been easier to handle if he’d been snide, or merely aloof. This… this complete indifference was unbearable.

 

Feeling thrice the fool, she used a silent Accio to retrieve her notes before passing through to the dining room with her head held high and Professor Snape at her back.

  


* * *

 

 

Healer Granger’s attempts to impose order onto the wedding tasks were modestly successful; mainly in helping to align the schedules of those with regular work. Luna’s interjections were infrequent, and she seemed to care most about the ceremony itself. Before the evening drew to a conclusion, chores were divided up and assigned.

 

Severus hardly paid attention to the negotiations, content to allow Draco to take the leadership role for the gentlemen and minimizing the amount he had to interact with Granger. Instead he used the time to observe her. She seemed much more like the Healer that he remembered, reserved and all business. He hadn’t missed the tension at the door earlier in the evening, and he supposed that she expected him to strip her down with criticism. As tempting as it was to meet her expectations, something held him back.

 

Granger’s manner was changed, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she was Occluding masterfully. She was aware that he was watching her, for they’d exchanged glances at least twice. She’d shown little reaction, looking away as though he were no more engaging than a bowl of fruit or potted plant. Was she too good for him now? He supposed he should be thankful. Still, it bothered him.

 

Other explanations came to mind as the hours progressed. He did not believe that she had lost her Gryffindor fight, so perhaps at last she had come to her senses. Was she expecting further rebuttals? He’d not made any attempt to answer her letter, for after reflection and several abandoned attempts, he’d decided that no answer at all was the best one for both of their sakes. He’d vented his thoughts, and she’d responded. Nothing could be gained from further discourse on the painful subject.

 

He felt no satisfaction when he reflected back on that fateful conversation, particularly on his own conduct. Lucius’ rebuke was as jarring as a bucket of ice water, for he should have seen through the Gryffindor’s obfuscations. He had allowed himself to be blinded by his own prejudice and it rankled his pride.

 

The evening with the Potters came to an end sooner than he expected, and Severus accompanied Draco and Lucius back to their home in London for a war-counsel over drinks. Severus unbent as far as having a glass of wine, still eschewing liquor.

 

“Well, we have our work cut out for us, gentlemen. I have some ideas, but we have a lot of practice ahead of us.”

 

Groaning, Lucius settled into an armchair, the fireplace left unlit in the warmth of the May evening. “Son, I question the wisdom of this entire endeavour.”

 

Waving this away, Draco took a spot on the settee before he answered. “Look at it this way, father. We’re treated to a performance featuring your beloved Luna, the delightful Mrs Potter, and I for one am looking forward to what Granger does with this. She has been hiding herself away.”

Severus had no idea of why he’d agreed to participate in the childish contest. Feeling the pressure of eyes on him, he spoke, “This is ridiculous, Draco. Maybe Potter would be a better stand-in.”

 

Lucius was untroubled by the prospect of dancing and singing in front of an audience. “I can’t back down, Severus. I have to prove to Mrs Potter that I’m able to keep up with Luna. Honour demands it.”

 

“Are you concerned about making a spectacle of yourself? I always believed you have a talent for the dramatic.”  Draco wouldn’t let him back out.

 

Snorting, Severus answered, “For what do we live, but to make sport for our acquaintances, and laugh at them in our turn?”

 

Draco’s confidence was solidly evident as he drawled,  “Oh, no-one will be laughing. Trust me. I have brilliant plans.”

 

So did Severus. He was going to have a second look at that Wootube video of the witches’ karaoke night.

 

_For research purposes._

 

He’d study their competition and in so doing examine the charms of Healer Granger’s performance. Did he dare believe she’d sang for him? It was the stuff of purely arrogant fantasy, but he couldn’t shake free of the thought. Well, he’d right and truly bollocksed that up now hadn’t he?

 

He expected to purge these feelings for Granger from his system for good with repeated exposure. At least that’s what he told himself.

  
  


* * *

 

 

It had been a terrible stretch of days at St Mungo’s, for some fool had pawned off contaminated pixie dust and the resultant poisonings kept rolling in. Pixie dust was one of the essential ingredients in a new recreational potion called Whack. Usually the stuff created a sort of magical feeling of calm and clarity - much akin to being whacked upside the head with the truths of the universe.

 

“Whack is right. For every idiot that comes in here having sampled that crap, I should get to whack it’s inventor upside the head twice!” Hermione gesticulated wildly, her tea slopping onto her shirt.

 

Draco rolled his eyes, mumbling, “Whacko, that’s what you are.”

 

Ignoring the quip, Hermione continued on, her need to vent superseding any response she might normally have mustered. “What is the matter with good old Mary Jane? Is it too much to ask the morons to stick with what’s known?”

 

“Marijuana can alter the minds of developing young adults, you know. It isn’t actually healthy for the clubbing crowd. At least those below age 25. And it is often laced with other drugs, like cocaine or PCP.” Draco knew a thing or two about the subject, finding it of mild interest.

 

Hermione glared at Draco over her cup. “You are right. They shouldn’t be using ANYTHING. If they had the sense to stick to lager, my ward wouldn’t be filled to the ears with flights of flame-farting fuckheads. Honestly! Cutting the pixie dust with powdered Fire Crab dung?”

 

Try as he might, Draco couldn’t stop chortling. “They actually ingested that shite?” He put his cup down on the counter after his attempt at sealing his lips against the sound failed spectacularly.

 

One traitorous corner of Hermione’s mouth lifted in shared amusement, but her tired voice was laced with righteous irritation. “Laugh it up now, Malfoy. You’re going to have a lot of butt-burn paste to replace come tomorrow.” Her lips stretched into a true grin, “I know how much you love working with zinc oxide.”

 

“A task for the apprentices if I ever heard of one.” He rubbed his hands together. “That’s my favourite part of working here. You’re done at noon, right?”

 

Shrugging, Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall in the consultant’s lounge. “If the medimages can get the lot of patients settled. I was of half a mind to dose the whole whinging ward of them with a Draught of Peace, along with the medimages too.”

 

“So you are in fact free tonight! I’m calling in my debt. I need your help to break in Severus and Dad.” Draco should not have been surprised when Severus had expressed an extreme reluctance to participate in the contest. For a man who lived and breathed drama for two decades, he was frustratingly reticent. More so since he’d returned to teaching.

 

Hermione stopped leaning on the counter and stood up straight, her jaw clenching at the mention of who needed help. Her face was easier to see, particularly the dark circles under her eyes. “I don’t think I should, Draco. I’m knackered.”

 

“Now what sort of honour is that? Besides, you don’t have to do much. Karaoke. I’ll pay your tab.”  

 

“I doubt Professor Snape wants any advice from me. Why do you think I’m the right person for this? I’m on the other team.”

 

Draco raised his eyebrows up in exaggerated surprise, as though the answer were obvious. “Because you owe me for Ron’s party. Because I am saying please. And not least because it will allow you to gather intelligence on your competition.”

 

“So I can invite Ginny and Harry? What about Charlie? I bet he’d be interested.”

 

“Oh, he won’t be back for another week or so. They expect a clutch hatching and he’s hovering over the nest like he might be the father.” A twinge of regret tugged at him.

 

Brown eyes softening, Hermione reached over to touch Draco’s shoulder lightly. “That’s a shame. Honestly, can’t we do this some other time?”

 

“Severus has tonight off, and the lovebirds are in town.” Ginny was able to get a babysitter tonight, and he counted on her to keep Hermione happy and engaged. “And I don’t want to waste any more time. Severus said he’d do this, and he’s just going to have to cooperate.”

 

“I still don’t think having me around is going to make him any more interested in participation, Drake. He’s more likely to disappear or sit and glower at me. And won’t he worry about being recognized?”

 

The chit had a few good points but he’d already anticipated these. “Oh, did I say Severus? I meant Toby had the night off. And it’s Thursday, so the pub didn’t mind renting the back room to us for this.”

 

Exasperated, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I fall asleep in my cups. Do you think they’ve got lullabies in the repertoire?”

 

“Great. Meet us at Quaffle’s at 7. We’ll have the VIP section to ourselves.” Quaffles was a club in Notting Hill, a wizarding one that required membership. It goes without saying that Draco was a member, but since his mother happened to be friends with the owner, all of his guests were extended honorary memberships as well.

 

Making a scrunched up face that would have been better placed on a toddler, Hermione wheedled, “Can’t we do it some other night? Please?”

 

“No— I don’t want to lose any more rehearsal time. So go home, get some sleep, and if you don’t show your brilliant face by ten past I’ll send the retrieval squad after you.”

 

A long sigh escaped the witch’s lips. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” She eyed the clock. “I’d better get on with it.”

 

“See you tonight, Granger. Wear something decent, will you? I’m tired of seeing you in scrubs.”

 

Hermione already was walking away, but she carelessly cast a stinging hex over her shoulder, causing him to spill his tea down his working robes. “Wench!”

  


* * *

 

 

BANG BANG BANG.

 

Severus, dressed as Toby, watched placidly from a position leaning with his back to the painted metal railing that faced the building’s courtyard several floors below. “Are you quite certain this is where she lives?” He needn’t express his distaste for modern complexes such as these for it was evident in his sneer. There was a restaurant nearby that served up Indian food, the spices and scent of roasting meat rich in the air. At least it was better than the scent of rancid rubbish overlain with urine that permeated the alley they’d apparated into nearby.

 

“Yeah. She has a nicer place in the suburbs, but this is where she spends most of her time when she’s the Consultant on Service.” The blond was tilting his ear towards her door, listening for movement within.

 

From what Draco related, Healer work sounded awful. A whole month of working for thirty six hours with only two nights off in between as well as day work to occupy the waking hours. He likened Granger to an inferi by the end of the rotation, having sucked the soul out of her between the drain of the hours along with the terrible things she witnessed.

 

Severus could empathize with that, as it made the Dark Lord and Dumbledore sound like jolly chaps with reasonable expectations. Well, it wasn’t the same. He didn’t get to help people like she did, nor the respect she’d earned.

 

BANG BANG BANG.

 

Not only was her schedule awful; she’d volunteered for two rotations in a row. Granger had disappeared from every social event for weeks. Severus had jumped on the invite that night after he heard that Draco was bringing along the Insufferable-Know-It All to help break through his “reluctance.” He couldn’t bring himself to object to the scheme, he’d spent all of that time in vocal exercises months ago.

 

BANG BANG! “Come on, Granger, don’t make me break the door down. You’re LATE.”

 

The door to the flat swung open and there stood the witch in the flesh. “Gods damn you, Draco! I was asleep.”

 

As the conversation between Draco and Granger progressed, the words faded to buzzing in Severus’ ears.

 

He stared, drinking in the vision of witchy beauty before him. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, but in that moment it felt as though it had been years. A lifetime. His eyes saw her anew.

 

She was clothed in an oversized shirt, one whose blue striped fabric had worn thin with age. The collar was loose, and the scalloped hem dipped down in front, leaving her shapely thighs exposed.

 

The light spilling out from the flat behind her was stronger than the external lights which served to dimly illuminate the courtyard. Their glow revealed a shadowed silhouette of her waist, and the soft curves of her breasts. Her hair was left loose and spilled over her shoulders in a riot of unbound chestnut curls.

 

Severus’ mouth went slack with realization: Hermione Granger was… absofuckinglutely amazing.

 

Sure, Toby had danced with her and noticed her better qualities, for she knew how to flaunt them. It was in character, or so he told himself at the time. The difference here was that it wasn’t Toby who was sitting up and taking notice.

 

It was Severus, the man, who saw Hermione for the first time. Not as his Healer. Not as his student. Not as the Golden Girl. Hermione, the woman, was a divine creature.

 

Something fundamental inside of him changed in that moment. His higher instincts screamed that he was in real trouble. Out of his depth. He had to do something! Lie. Run…

 

Bow down and kiss her adorable painted toes. Worship her. He shifted, straightening his posture.

 

The little goddess gasped, noticing his presence. His heart shuddered in his chest as their eyes met. _Locked_.

 

She swore in a faint voice, heavy with chagrin. “Oh shite! Sorry, Drake. Um, I’ll be ready in ten.”  Blushing prettily, she firmly shut the door.

 

It clicked.

 

Blood started to return to his brain from other areas, but he was left dizzied and off balance. He was falling for Hermione Granger; a witch whom he’d rejected. Not only that, he’d thoroughly convinced her that he could never think of her in a romantic way.

 

He let out a low groan.

 

Severus Tobias Snape - Professor of both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Master in his craft, Lord Voldemort’s once most favoured Death Eater, Dumbledore’s double agent, Headmaster of the UK’s premiere School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for one awful year, and winner of the Order of Merlin first class - was a dunderheaded lovesick fool.

 

* * *

 

Song Credits:

*A Thousand Years, Artist: Christina Perri, Album: The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1, Released: 2011

**Never Gonna Give You Up - Artist: Rick Astley, Album: Whenever You Need Somebody Released: 1987

  


 


	16. Chapter 12 and 3/4: Not Afraid to Close My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to my betas ms_anthrop, Havelocked, and deweydecimateher. 
> 
> This is new material, added to the story in a scene I meant to write but ran out of time for the first time around. Original prompt by Geminisister, written for sshg_giftfest on LiveJournal.

 

 

Not Afraid To Close My Eyes

  
  
  


Draco raked his fingers through his charmed thatch of platinum hair, debating what to do next as he watched Severus covertly out of the corner of his eye. He’d stood there silently, only the open mouth and increased respiratory rate giving him away. Granger couldn’t have grabbed Severus’ attention any more effectively if he’d planned it himself. It wouldn’t do to let Severus know he’d been seen. 

 

“Any ideas of what song you’re going to pick?” 

 

Teeth clicking closed, Severus schooled his expression a beat too late to hide his astonishment. “What?”

 

“Song. For karaoke. What we’re doing tonight.” Draco’s teeth flashed in a scimitar-sharp smile. “Are Toby’s breeches too tight, or is it maintaining the glamour that is making you slow?” 

 

Severus’ hand touched his wand, tucked up his sleeve. “I shouldn’t be here. Forget this cracked up contest. We’ll simply address all of those invitations. I might assign the work as detention.” 

 

Raising his eyebrows, Draco let out a dry laugh of disbelief. “Only if you’re going to stay on next year as Potions master. Exams are upon you, and I doubt such a ploy would go unnoticed.” 

 

Severus’ sour grimace paired with a low growl of frustration was an adequate answer, one that Draco fully expected. 

 

“Not going to happen, Toby. Now, be a good Best Man, and suck it up.”

 

“Granger is clearly exhausted, we’re imposing…” 

 

With a swift, slicing motion of his hand, Draco cut off the excuses being rallied by his Godfather. “Granger owes me this, and if we don’t do it tonight, I don’t know when our next chance will be. And I for one intend to win. Where’s your pride, man?”

 

“In my other trousers, if you must know.” Toby relaxed in unspoken surrender, letting his hand fall back to his side, still wandless. 

 

Draco rolled his neck from side to side in an effort to release some of the tension he’d built up that afternoon in his lab. Stirring salves with high viscosity was one of his least favourite tasks. Vapours were his speciality, and as a bonus, they didn’t require brute force. “I suppose this evening might go more smoothly without it in any case.” 

 

“Fuck you.” Severus was trying to glower at him, but the plaintive way he kept glancing at Granger’s door was ruining the intended effect. 

 

Draco turned away from the door, leaning on the railing to look down into the courtyard as he kept his tone light and mocking. “No, thanks. I told you before, too incestuous. Now, Granger might be up for it.” Thankfully she hadn’t appeared yet. “My dragon tamer is more than enough. I’m not interested in branching out any further.” 

 

“What of Dr Lundar? I thought you two were well suited for one another.” 

 

It was an obvious ploy to change the subject. Well, he’d allow it to a point. Perhaps some up-front frankness might help him receive the same in kind later tonight. What could he say about Romana? She was the witch who got away, disappearing into her labs in Geneva. She’d not returned his owls, nor had she responded when he’d sent her flowers. It’d hurt when he learned that she was writing back to Luna. Charlie, on the other hand, was very attentive and made Draco feel wanted, even loved.

 

Sighing breezily, Draco said aloud, “She’s lovely and so brilliant that I can barely keep up with her. That’s the trouble. She became completely obsessed with that broken Time-Turner, and I’ve not heard from her in weeks. I had thought we would be more, but it just didn’t work out.” He remembered a particular trick she’d shown him. “Pity. She was innovative in bed, too. One doesn’t meet a witch like that too often.” 

 

The wizard responded to Draco’s amorous thoughts with obvious disgust. “Now you are making me ill.” 

 

A surly Severus was a predictable Severus. Draco had him right where he wanted him. 

 

A snort escaped him as he looked at his godfather in disdain. “I know a healer who could fix that.” 

 

Severus’ mouth opened, but the retort died as he was cut off by the witch in question slipping into the hallway, her back turned to them to re-ward her door. He was staring at her velvet-clad arse like it was a revelation. 

 

Interesting, very interesting. Should he jog Toby’s elbow? Clear his throat? Nope. This is too entertaining.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Toby was back, it seemed, and Hermione wasn’t prepared for it. “I should have known. He said he’d be there.” She was talking to herself, so she had no reason to expect any sort of sympathy from the Universe.

 

A swarm of fuzzy bumblebees buzzed in her gullet, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She might be clueless, but she could have sworn that Toby was looking at her as though he were starving and she’d hidden Beef Wellington about her tits. 

 

No one looked at her like that! Disbelief warred with the evidence of her attraction, a heat that refused to be extinguished by the sting of remembered rejection. 

 

She’d shut the door on the pair, not inviting them in because she needed the time to collect her thoughts in addition to the reality of needing to get dressed. Her mouth was dry as she looked over the damage in her bathroom mirror, an aged piece of silvered glass held in place by plastic bits screwed into the wall. It was blessedly mundane as mirrors went. 

 

“Well, I am horrid.” A crease line crossed her cheek from the pillow. At least there wasn’t any dried drool. But it wasn’t disgust in his eyes, of that she was sure.

 

Embarrassment broke her concentration. He’s not attracted to me, he’s just wearing a persona like others wear hats. I’m an idiot. She raised her hands to her hair with a groan. Why had she ever agreed to do this? 

 

“I’m going to kill Draco.” 

 

Five minutes later, she’d shucked out of her comfortable clothes and shimmied into a stretch velvet dress that begged to be touched. There wasn’t time to do anything significant with her hair, so she pulled it back from her face with a pair of combs, unapologetically magical in nature. She grabbed her impractical dancing shoes and took a last look in the mirror, wondering if the dress were too daring for this company, as its cut allowed hints of soft cleavage and glimpses of her toned thighs to peek out as she walked. Dark plum lipstick was still setting in place, providing a balance to the deep magenta of her dress. 

 

She toed into the strappy heels and padded out the door, patting her hip to assure that the undetectable extension charm on the pocket there hadn’t started to fail. Everything was in its proper place. “Alright. Time to face the music.” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Draco disappeared ahead of them, his stride lengthening and taking him out of her sight. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, already a heartbeat too late. 

 

She muttered darkly under her breath, and she sped up, trying to catch up with that gitty glob of grindylow goobers. A crack of Apparition echoed around the corner, confirming that she was alone with Snape. 

 

The dour wizard’s glamoured features didn’t fool her at all, now that she knew who he was. He was half a head taller than she was, even with her three-inch heels. They were going to a private club, but still, he wore Toby’s clothes—the same black leather pants, this time with an emerald green shirt. How far does the disguise penetrate? Would he be teasing and flirtatious with her like the last time she’d met Toby? Her logical mind hoped not, but her body had very different ideas. No matter, best to get the Erumpent out into the open now, while they were alone. 

 

“So, are you Professor Snape or Toby tonight?” 

 

His eyes were busy scanning the street, looking everywhere but at her. Anyone else and she’d believe they’d been woolgathering, but not Severus Snape. He must be mocking her. 

 

Impatient, Hermione clarified her question. “Sir, what persona are you using? I’d like to know what to call you. I rather doubt that you’d wish to be recognized as yourself accompanying Hermione Know-It-All Granger to a club, even if only on a weeknight.” 

 

A bark of laughter preceded his answer. “Who would believe it? Professor Snape out on the town a’tall? Not bloody likely, is it?” He’d spoken with his Northern accent, the one he used for Toby.

 

Hermione found herself giggling at the image. “It would be quite a shock. Madness. Surely a sign of Armageddon.” She continued walking. 

 

His dry, low timbered chuckle made her heart leap in spite of the persistent sting from the spectacular rejection he’d given in answer to her confession of love that awful night. Why did this man still hold that power over her? No matter. This means nothing. He was very precise, and once Severus Snape voices such an opinion, he wasn’t going to change it. 

 

“I do have a certain reputation to uphold, Healer Granger.” 

 

That riposte was all Snape. How was she going to keep it straight? Not wanting to look up and see a scornful Severus Snape sneer, she watched the pavement passing beneath her feet as she softly corrected him. “Hermione.” 

 

Tension flowed into his posture as she proffered her correction. 

 

Her mind raced ahead, anticipating a myriad of insults about to drip from his venomous tongue. The silence stretched out between them, their footsteps echoing back from the empty street marking the passage of time. 

 

They were almost to the alley she intended to use as their apparition point, and the feeling of indignation rose up within her. No, this won’t do. She tugged at his elbow. “This is absolutely ridiculous! Toby would never call me Healer Granger, sir.” 

 

They’d stopped, blocking the walk. For a moment, she felt certain that he was about to hex her in clear view. Then he bent his head, as though he were her beau, whispering in her ear.

 

“And Hermione would never call Toby sir. Unless she goes in for that a’course.” The edge of irritation with which he snapped off the last word pleased her. 

 

Gryffindor she may be, but she was too intelligent to fall for that bait. It was an opening of sorts; an invitation to familiarity. Daring to look up into his face, she crooked her mouth into a flirty smile. “So, how have you been, Toby? It has been too long.” 

 

He started to slowly walk again, pulling her hand into the crook of his elbow from where she latched onto him before. “Busy.” His features were schooled into careful neutrality as he met her glance. 

 

In for a knut, Hermione sighed breathily in what she fancied was a good show of sympathy. Lavender Brown, eat your heart out! “And yet I have you tonight. You sure know how to flatter a girl.” She fluttered her lashes at him for good measure. 

 

Looking away as though she’d insulted him, Toby growled, “Lucky duck.” He sounded too much like Snape. Where was that incredible bloke-about-town swagger? 

 

Even super spies have off nights, she supposed.

 

Inspiration in the form of the uneven pavement caused her to trip, coincidentally towards her companion of the evening. Second thoughts plagued her as she tottered on the edge of impending disaster. 

 

A strong, steadying arm wrapped about her waist, pulling her into Toby’s side, the impact surprising an exclamation out of her. “Oh!” She tilted her face upwards, her lips parting with a readied apology that never came. 

 

“‘Aven’t even stepped into the pub yet, and already she’s fallin’ down.” The words were sharp, edged with disdain. Severus’ expression, however, was curiously absent of the sneer she’d expect with such criticism and she let herself stare back up at him. His eyes were darker than a starless night, so dark that she could barely differentiate iris from the pupil. It was as if she was looking downwards into a deep well, with no idea of its actual depths. “Alright?” 

 

Head spinning from the intoxication of that singular attention, Hermione’s mouth hung open as her mind whirled in consternation. No, no, no. This was not how things were going to go! He wanted no part of her, so why did she keep doing this to herself? 

 

Clever fingers pinched her waist, and she jumped reflexively. It was enough to jolt her back to reality before she made a bigger fool of herself. 

 

“Hey, cut that out!” 

 

“Don’t know what you mean, duck.” The way Toby’s eyes glittered with amusement suggested otherwise. 

 

Growling, Hermione pulled away from him with a shake and only just restrained herself from telling Snape to fuck the hell off and take his mate Toby with him. 

 

Beside her, he continued walking, and now he had a slight bounce to his steps. The bastard was enjoying this! His eyes were scanning the street behind them as they turned into the sheltered alley that was their destination. 

She’d fix him. She lowered her lashes with a lopsided smile. “Shall I?” She’d manoeuvred Toby between herself and the nearest brick building. She took a step towards him, raising her hand towards his face, but not touching the angular jaw -- although her fingers did itch with the memory of having touched him there before.

 

Instinctively, Toby stepped backwards in response. “Pardon?” 

 

She took another step forward, forcing him to step back once more, stopping against the wall. 

 

Colouring, he stared down at her in dismay. “Granger?” 

 

She smiled up at him sweetly. “I was offering to take you.” Savouring the faint widening of those dark eyes, she stifled a laugh. “To Quaffles.” Her right hand reached out to touch lightly at his waist. Their stance was a parody of a dance position, an echo of elegant balls forgotten by all but history. “The bar?” 

 

“Side-Apparation. I see.” He’d relaxed his shoulders, but his answer was clipped short with irritation. 

 

Delighted with the success of her manoeuvre, she raised her brows slightly. “Unless you’ve a membership?” 

 

Shaking his head to the negative, Hermione interpreted his silence as permission. Her left hand made contact with his neck and firming her grip, she stepped to the side, trying not to admire how her partner’s hips swivelled to follow hers so naturally. 

 

Magic pressed them together into the suffocating cold of that which is between.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Toby followed the little powerhouse of a witch, still giddy-headed from Granger’s unique twist on Apparition.

 

“Come on, then.” His heart rate had been persistently elevated in response to her nearness, and he felt the beat stutter with loss when she stepped away from him, pivoting on one long, shapely leg. 

 

“Quaffles” had its own indoor apparition point, which was rather posh. His instincts told him the space was below ground, so it was fortunate for Healer Granger in those impossibly tall heels. If she were already tripping on flat surfaces, stairs surely would have sent her flying. His arm still was warm with the memory of the feel of her soft body when he’d caught her only minutes ago. 

 

He did appreciate the effect of those impractical high-heeled shoes on her walk, causing her hips to roll entrancingly. Dutifully he tore his eyes away from the hypnotic sight to observe what amounted to a pedestrian Wizarding version of a pub, struggling to be homey yet posh at the same time. 

 

The main room was decorated by a person who hadn’t the faintest ruddy idea of what won a game of Quidditch, using the elements of the game in a saccharinely sweet decorative manner. The background colour of a deep pine green pleased him, and he was mollified by the representation of the Appleby Arrows who he supported as any self-respecting Northern wizard should. 

 

But why would Granger retain membership in such a place? Given that the pasty-faced dullard at the front bowed and scraped the moment she stepped through the doorway, she was a member of high esteem. 

 

She’d grabbed his hand in what Toby fancied was a possessive fashion and towed him inside with a sunny, “Thank you, James!” 

 

As they passed through a glass door marked “VIP,” a flurry of activity greeted them. Toby’s hand was hastily dropped as Hermione, Luna, and Romana converged into a three-way hug with supersonic squeals of delight and an odd hopping dance. 

 

“Romana! You didn’t tell me you were coming to town!” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Severus headed for the bar in what some might criticise as a cowardly move. He considered it to be a dignified tactical retreat. The bartender was an unassuming balding wizard who looked to be in his sixties, although who could tell? He could be a goblin wearing a glamour. So long as he wasn’t going to go telling tales, or filming for WooTube, Severus would be civil. 

 

“Any Holt’s on tap?” Severus glowered at the mirror over the bar as he put in his order.  

 

The bartender cleared his throat. “We have Two Hoots, Smooth, Humdinger, Crystal, Poison…” 

 

Severus interrupted his litany with a staying hand. “Bitter. And a cider.” 

 

“Pear? Blackberry? Granny Smith?” The look on Severus’ face was answer enough to go on with for the bartender whose name-tag was just visible. “Right. Cider, tap alright or bottle?” 

 

“Draft is fine, Charles.” Severus was tapping the counter in irritation. While he was a connoisseur, he was counting on Toby to get him through the evening, and Toby wasn’t a picky man. 

 

The shift in light alerted him to the approach of someone else to the bar, and he turned in time to see Lucius sauntering over with a shit-eating grin plastered on his stupid face. “Hello, Severus. Or should I be calling you Toby?” Lucius squinted at him, as though trying to bring him into better focus. 

 

“Whatever you please. It is a private room.” He glanced over at the ladies to mark the progress of the cooing and squawking that witches seemed to feel necessary for such reunions. Feeling paranoid he barked, “And anyone who feels it necessary to flap their lips to the media had better kiss their arse goodbye because I’ll stick my boot up there so far you won’t…” 

 

Lucius interrupted him. “Three champagnes if you would be so good, Charles.” 

 

Severus collected his drinks with a scowl. When he straightened and turned to step away, a hand on his arm stopped him. 

 

“Draco wants us all to start in a group as a warm-up. Something by the B50s or some such. Five minutes.” 

 

“B-52’s.” He lifted the glass to his face, inspecting the beer as though he would check any brew he hadn’t made himself. Scent, colour, viscosity all judged, he only just heard the tail of what his friend was saying. 

 

“… get up there and perform individually or in pairs later.”

 

Swallowing the mouthful of astringent liquid first, Severus asked incredulously, “What?” 

 

“We’ve been over this. You left Draco in charge, so he’s leading, and he wants us all to get comfortable performing in front of a group.” Lucius accepted his drinks from the bartender, managing to hold two in one hand and the third in his other. 

 

Severus snorted. “And he thought we were going to have a problem with this for what reason?” Lucius should know that Severus was no stranger to performance, and he possessed a talent for spells that required specific inflexion. Any wizard who didn’t wish to die a painful death knew a good healing chant that his old Mam taught him.

 

“He just wants to get a measure of the witches, I think. Mr Potter will be here too. Show of support for his wife.” 

 

Mastering the impulse to roll his eyes, Toby followed Lucius towards the front of the room. “Good Godric. Will I have to applaud when that prat sings? It isn’t too late to have Potter take my place in the limelight, and I could go back to Hogwarts and get the last of the term papers graded.” 

 

“Severus…” 

 

“It is crucial to turn back my student’s work promptly.” He noted that Lucius wasn’t buying it, so he continued. “There’s a mess in the stockroom, I could be using my time better there.” 

 

“Do shut up, Toby.” Draco was paging through a catalogue. 

 

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Severus shot back, “Make me, you ungrateful whelp.” 

 

“Is that for me, then?” He was looking pointedly at the second glass in Severus’ hand. 

 

Severus decided to ignore Draco, shifting past him to present Hermione with her cider. The way her bright eyes widened at the gesture did odd things to the place where anatomically his heart was rumoured to reside.  

 

“Thanks.” She took the cider slowly from him. 

 

Was it his imagination, or did she brush his fingers? No, fool. Your hand is so large that she had no way to avoid touching you without rejecting the drink! 

 

He lifted his own glass up in a mock salute. 

 

Hermione’s eyes crinkled charmingly before she turned back to Romana, leaving Severus to his own thoughts. Try as he might, he kept returning to Granger, like a compass needle drawn to Earth’s magnetic north. His mood dipped a notch when he noticed Lucius smirking at him. 

 

Pleasant thoughts of how to creatively remove that smirk from his supposed best friend’s face were interrupted just as he was reaching the bottom of his glass by Draco. “Let’s get this party started! Gather around.” 

 

He demonstrated the particular wand motion and charm to prompt the enchanted gramophone to spout the music and words to a specific song. 

 

“No microphone, Draco?” Hermione was the usual pain in everyone's arse. Severus would have been content with no amplification at all. 

 

“Use sonorous, Granger. Or have you forgotten fourth-year Charms?” 

 

“No, no need. I was merely expecting something superior.” 

 

Draco didn’t miss a beat, ignoring the dig from his erstwhile academic rival. “This song is easy to pick up. I’ll do the verses along with…” He made a show of considering the ladies before pointing, “with Granger! I believe it is a requisite party song, so you’ll know it. You know everything, so you won’t even need the words, I imagine. Do go easy on the rest of us.”  

 

Hermione brushed past Severus, leaving the ghost of a tingle on his arm in her perfumed wake. By the time he’d recovered, he had found himself standing next to Lucius, Luna and Romana while Hermione and Draco took the lead. Luna helpfully whispered, “We’re to do the chorus, sir.” 

 

It was a stupid song. As a rule, Severus avoided thinking of a shack of any kind. That Chrysler must have had an undetectable extension charm on it, for 20 people would never fit into anything muggle short of a clown car. 

 

When Hermione shimmied her velvet-clad hips to the music (and since when did velvet hug so tightly?), he was hard-pressed not to read into it. Bang bang... on the door, baby. And the table. And the bar… 

 

Dammit. 

 

“Tin roof. Rusted!” * Hermione had the audacity to grin at up at him as she sang.

 

Severus' already affected nether region grew more heated, but he need not worry about inconvenient detection. Thankfully he’d managed to convince Filius to show him the ins and outs of the undetectable extension charm that Granger had used on her infamous bag. It worked beautifully on leather trousers, albeit legally questionable. He would love to see any Magical Law Enforcement officer try to call him out on it. 

 

What was the meaning of that particular smile? Busted rhyme with rusted, but she wasn’t a legilimens. Rusted and worn out. Maybe that’s what she meant by that look? I’m no prize. 

 

As the last chorus came to a close, he still had not dispelled the fantasy of Bang-Banging Granger’s shapely arse. Shit. I’m as horny as a teenager. 

 

Lucius and Luna claimed the next song, and as best man, he did try to be attentive, for all the good it did. “Lu-Lu” (as Draco had taken to calling Lucius and Luna out of fond disgust) were both wholly absorbed in one another’s eyes. The song was so repulsively saccharine that his ego protectively erased it from his memory in real-time, leaving behind a bilious aftertaste. 

 

Severus retreated to the bar, watching in the mirror behind it as Hermione, Draco, and Romana put their heads together. Fatigue dragged at him, as though he’d been there for hours instead of barely twenty minutes. The hard seat was comfortable, and Charles didn’t expect a performance for his trouble. He felt a sort of gruff affection for the silent barman bustling about and keeping the pints coming. He felt doubly justified in his retreat, for a public display of affection between Lucius and Luna accompanied by song was frankly disturbing. 

 

He wasn’t hiding from Granger. He was regrouping for the purpose of self-preservation. Unknowingly she had a hold on him, rooted deeper than gratitude and respect -- those feelings he understood and could cope with. This feeling was vastly different. 

 

Hermione’s smiles hit him like a bludger to the gut followed by an industrial  _ Confundus _ charm. 

 

Toby would be entirely at ease. He’d insinuate himself into the pack and neatly claim a place at Hermione’s side, employing a few well-timed compliments to fight off any resistance. Bully for Toby that he’d never rejected the lovely witch, nor had a long, complicated history with her. No, it was Severus who hadn’t the least idea of what to do, or how to begin to make things right again. Was he going insane? She’d never forgive him. And yet… he was willing to pay dearly for another chance. The real trouble was how to go about doing it.    

 

His miserably comfortable meditation was shattered when the Potters arrived, bringing with them an unexpected guest: Charlie Weasley. The bloke was supposed to be in Romania. 

 

Upon seeing Weasley, his Godson’s complexion transformed to a pallor resembling flobberworm mucus. Draco shifted away from Romana like a guilty Gryffindor firstie. 

 

Across the bar, Lucius met Severus’ alarmed gaze. Severus didn’t really understand what the problem was. Draco was not in a committed relationship, and he had not been behaving in an overly forward manner towards Romana. Therefore to Severus' view, Draco's discomfort was illogical. 

 

Draco accepted Charlies’ warm kiss of greeting, while behind him the brilliant witch’s fair brow was furrowed in an expression that Severus never expected to see on Dr Lundar: confusion. He didn’t catch what Hermione said as she pulled Romana away. Likely enacting an ill-conceived, half-baked plan, heavily steeped in would be benign interference.

 

For his part, Severus was loathe to leave his position of comfort with his man Charles at the bar. Things would no doubt fall where they should and would do so without his inference. He had enough to worry about as it was. 

 

“Charles? Another pint, if you please.” 

  
  


* * *

 

Luna slid into a place next to Toby at the bar. “Oh, hello Professor Snape.” Lucius was eavesdropping on Hermione and Romana to determine what was going on with his son. She’d decided to join her friend who was sitting by himself at the bar. 

 

“Toby, or if you can’t manage that, just call me Severus.” He answered in a low growl that she took for annoyance, but the words were downright polite for him. 

 

Smiling, she asked, “What are you drinking?” 

 

“Bitter. Holt’s Brewery’s near my hometown.” 

 

Luna understood immediately, saying, “The bitter draught of your youth’s disappointments. I see. That’s dark even for you.” 

 

His eyes glittered when he met her gaze squarely. After a silent moment passed between them, Severus drained the rest. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was more than she’d expected. 

 

Taking his silence for an invitation, of a sort, Luna voiced her opinion on the situation. “Draco’s in quite the pickle. Romana shows up, brilliantly having mastered her prototype dimensional thimblerigger to celebrate with some karaoke, and then Charlie, who was supposed to be in Romania, shows up and confuses Romana.” 

 

“Just need my man Charles here to get involved. Would have a nice symmetry at least.” 

 

“You mean Charlie?” 

 

“No. Charles, the barman, can get Charlie and Romana some drinks to make them forget they aren’t in Romania.” 

 

A thought occurred to her, so she voiced it. “It’s a pity that Romana’s so brilliant with the manipulation of time and space, but is clueless regarding its impact on social relations. Maybe Hermione can point her to some reading on the subject.” Luna leaned close to her ex-professor. “But what about Draco? It is all rather silly.” 

 

The wizard shifted his weight. “I am afraid there’s nothing I can do to help him. I expect he should have already made his declarations, and if as there is uncertainty, it falls to him to set both of his lovers straight.” 

 

“Tsk. Maybe you can buy him some time?” Luna tilted her head. “I’ve listened to Hermione sing, and Draco too. No one but Hermione’s heard you, sir. This is your debut.” 

 

A pained expression pinched Severus’ face, wrinkles deepening about the brow and eyes. “I doubt it will be worth much beyond the same novelty one finds in watching a dancing ogre. It isn’t that the ogre dances well, but that he does it all.” 

 

Laughing, Luna placed a light hand on Severus’ arm. “Oh, I don’t know. Hermione said she’d rarely heard anything so wonderful as the return of your voice.” 

 

His eyebrows winged upward in disbelief. “Pull the other one.” 

 

“No, really.” She patted his arm and leaned in to speak more quietly. “I think she really misses those sessions. How had she put it? Oh, that’s right.” Luna made a passable attempt at a Southern accent, ‘Snape’s voice is addictive, I could listen to him all day. It made the whinging almost tolerable.’” She turned to watch Hermione and Romana talking together quietly, both with their backs to the rest of the room. Her dear Lucius was also nearby, but alas he was being accosted by the Potters. She would need to go rescue him soon. 

 

The man next to her was very still. Luna wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her until his Adam's apple bobbed in what looked like a painful dry swallow. Severus whispered, “Did… did she really mean that? It surely was in jest. An exaggeration?” 

 

Distressed at the very idea, Luna shook her head. “Oh, no sir. Hermione is the most painfully honest person I know. She never gives praise without merit, and she never exaggerates. If she offers a compliment, then it is the exact truth.” 

 

Severus turned to stare at the witches who were now joined by Ginny. The Slytherin dropped any pretence of subterfuge. Luna thought it was adorable.  

 

She let her lips curve up in a conspiratorial grin, feeling confident that she’d gotten her bit of flobberworm on the hook. Now to pull the stubborn wizard in! Luna said, “I want to hear you sing, to see if it helps her wrackspurts. She has a terrible infestation, has had for months.” 

 

Harry Potter was crossing the room towards them. This appeared to galvanize Severus for he pushed away from the bar and stalked toward the enchanted box. 

 

Luna met her fiancée’s amused glance from across the room, her heart full of joy. “If only everyone could be as happy as I am!” 

 

“You have a talent for happiness, Luna.” Harry stopped next to her. “What’s going on?” 

 

“Oh, Charlie’s shown up along with Romana instead of being in Romania and Severus seems to think that Charles here has a drink that will balance the scales.” 

 

Harry tilted his head like a confused Crup, his dark brow wrinkling as he tried to work that out. 

 

She giggled, appreciating the confusion in her Auror-friend’s eyes. Might as well fully explain herself. “And Severus is going to sing to buy Draco some time. But really it’s because he’s in love with Hermione.”  

 

Harry’s hand swiped over his face, trying to gain control of his complicated reaction. “Hello there, my good sir. I need a stiff drink.” 

 

“What will you have, Mr Potter?” The barman was excessively polite, a congenial light of avarice bright in his eyes.  

Harry looked at the others in the room, his lips moving as he counted. “Make that a shot for everyone. We’ll all need several rounds by the end of tonight.” He winked at Luna, a contrast to his otherwise put-upon tone.

 

Luna bounced in place, supplying her idea. “Oh, what about that one I tried last week. What was it? A Quick Fuck. It was utterly delicious. Do you know how to do that one, Mr Charles?” 

 

The bartender looked as though he was doing his very best to maintain a professional countenance. “Of course, Miss.” 

 

Catching on, Harry slapped the bar. “Right. A Quick Fuck for everyone here. Sounds like it is just what’s needed to break the tension.” He smirked as the bulldog of a wizard rolled up his sleeves. “Oh, except the red-head, Ginny. I’ll take care of my lovely wife later.” 

 

Luna brightened. “Oh, Harry. Another? How wonderful!” 

 

He raised a finger to his lips. “Mum’s the word.”

 

“Personally, I prefer Mother.” Luna didn’t see Harry’s eyes roll as she avidly watched the bartender expertly whip up eight Quick Fucks.

  
  


* * *

 

It was ironic, in Draco’s opinion, that the very people who were supposed to be his friends had set him up for what was shaping out to be the most disastrous evening of his young life. He was truly happy in his relationship with Charlie and had cultivated it to the best of his ability. The Weasley man was the most passionate, amazing wizard he’d ever known. 

 

Charlie was fully aware of Draco’s bisexuality. When they’d first started dating, they’d discussed previous relationships, albeit in abstract terms. It had not been necessary to enumerate specifics about his exes, Charlie was most interested in serious relationships, of which Draco couldn’t claim any. After all, before the war, he’d been contracted to marry a witch chosen for him by his family. He only mentioned Romana as an anonymous witch in the long line of his half-hearted attempts to do his duty to his family, although she might have become more given sufficient time. 

 

Draco was astounded when Charlie asked about Draco’s dreams. In short, Charlie wanted to make Draco happy. 

 

The open, frank nature of those first conversations had set the foundation for a relationship that had become everything that Draco had never thought he’d have. Charlie was easy to be with and showed Draco how much he admired and trusted him. The weeks they’d been together had flown by, and Draco was starting to think that Charlie might be the one, and he’d thought Charlie might feel the same in return. Or so Draco had thought, but now his boyfriend was worryingly subdued, deflecting Draco’s attempts at explanation. 

 

And why was he feeling so guilty? He hadn’t been inappropriately affectionate with Romana, he was just glad to see her after weeks of radio silence. 

 

He hadn’t the time to tell her about Charlie, but that didn’t mean he’d been unfaithful. Did it?

 

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?” Draco’s voice was small, and he hated how uncertain he felt. 

 

Charlie’s expression was flat, and if Draco didn’t know otherwise, he’d have thought the man was occluding. The golden light in his eyes that normally warmed to Draco was absent, the hazel darkening with distance. “I haven’t decided. I should visit my brother while I’m in town.” 

 

“Charlie. There isn’t anything…” Draco’s mind fumbled, looking for a way to explain without making it sound worse. “Romana is a dear friend, someone I knew, erm… before we met. I wouldn’t do that to you. To us.” Draco lifted a hand, wanting to touch his boyfriend. To reassure him. “You’re precious to me.” 

 

Charlie turned away, leaving nothing but air between them. His shoulders softened, and he said, “I know that, Draco. I just need some space to get my head on straight, alright?” He glanced back over his shoulder as he walked away. “I’m going to get a drink, we’ll talk later.” 

 

Razor wires of pain tightened around Draco’s chest, intensifying with every step that Charlie took away from him. It took a great deal of strength to not run after him. To beg. 

 

Some time later, Severus’ question broke into Draco’s sphere of misery. “Heart Attack?*** or Bad Case…**” 

 

His head whipped around in surprise. “You’re going to sing?” Draco coughed, trying to get his mind back in the game. “Robert Palmer’s more your century.”  

 

His godfather straightened, a storm gathering in the tension about his eyes. “Ingrate.” 

 

Draco said, “Shall I back you up?”

 

A fleeting glance from Severus over towards where Charlie stood talking with Luna assured Draco that the wizard hadn’t missed a beat, but Draco didn’t want to talk about it. 

 

“It will be fun. You’ll see. Granger will love it.” Draco’s composure was returning, a gossamer veil that he hoped might conceal his inner turmoil. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Severus jerked his head toward the front of the room where the karaoke box sat waiting for them. “Come along.” 

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

“So, you mean to tell me that you lost track of time while working on the time trap, and had NO idea that it had been months since you last answered Draco?”

 

Romana sucked in her lower lip and nodded once, her expression contrite. 

 

Hermione said, “But he didn’t try to contact you either, so that’s alright.” Her tone lifted at the end of the sentence, making it more of a question than she’d intended. She really didn’t want to feel sorry for Draco. Here she was aching for a man who hated her and Draco hadn’t mentioned his own troubles. She’d not even expected that he’d make an effort, given the witch was well out of his easy reach. 

 

“Not exactly.” Romana blushed before adding, “He sent me lovely notes, flowers, and a box of chocolates.”

 

Sighing, Hermione asked, “So what happened?” 

 

“Oh, I spent a day putting together an experimental time-stasis field for the roses. They are so lovely, and I wanted to enjoy them properly.” Romana shrugged. “I was up too late, and then had to get to work and I…” She cut off as Luna popped up at Hermione’s elbow. 

 

Luna called, “Who’s up for shots? These are amazing, you have to try them!” 

 

Thankful for the interruption, Hermione examined the drinks that Luna extended to them on a balanced tray. The small cylinders were filled with layers of liquor. The bottom was dark Brown, the middle layer a bright green, and the top an off white that looked a lot like Irish cream. The green and white started to swirl together as Hermione picked one up to sniff it. “What’s this called, then?” 

 

It was Harry who answered, “A Quick Fuck. Luna has the right idea, it would do everyone in the room a world of goo—AUGH.” He’d broken off when Ginny slapped him upside the head. 

 

Everyone laughed as Harry had to set his glasses back on straight. Hermione grinned at her friends. It had been far too long since she’d last been out like this. 

 

Romana clinked her shot glass with Hermione’s and said with a grin, “I think you should go first, Hermione, unless there’s good news you haven’t told me about…?” She looked over to where Snape stood with Draco before waggling her eyebrows suggestively. It was about as sexy on her as it was on Groucho Marx. 

 

Hermione groaned, “Could we not talk about it?”

 

“Only if you drink up.” Romana gestured to the shot in Hermione’s hand. She’d finished her cider too quickly as it was and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea.  

 

Seeing her hesitation, Romana said, “Or what of the red-head? He’s built like a house. Surely he’d be a gentleman and help a lonely witch out?” 

 

Hermione snorted and said, “He’s homosexual, Romana.” Not wanting to give Romana leeway to may any more wild suggestions, Hermione lifted the glass to her lips and knocked back the drink in one go. 

 

A succession of flavours dashed through her mouth. The smooth cream was followed by the fresh greenness of what turned out to be a melon liquor, finishing with the more earthy pang of coffee. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and looked down at the now empty glass, wondering if she could get another. 

 

When the heat warming Hermione’s throat settled in her gullet, she looked up to find that Romana had somehow managed to coax Charlie over. They were standing about a tall table, perfect height for Charlie to lean on. 

 

“Granger, are you going to introduce me to your beautiful friend?” He winked at Romana with practised ease. 

 

Hermione obliged, “Charlie Weasley, Dragon Tamer, please meet Dr Romana Lundar, top-secret researcher and a good friend. Even if she has no sense of timing.” 

 

Romana ignored the jibe and held out a hand, fluttering her lashes prettily. “Charmed to meet you, Charlie. I can see why Draco’s mad for you.” 

 

A tinge of pink brightened Charlie’s ears. He blushes like his father, Hermione thought to herself giddily. Whoops, there’s the alcohol. Deeper down, she knew that she should be saying something, or changing the subject, but the pair seemed to be getting on quite well. 

 

Maybe Charlie’s flexible in his tastes? I wouldn’t mind seeing that, they’re both quite brilliant. And hot. Hermione bit her lip, unused to dealing with her own libido in public like this. She gave herself a shake, ordering her mind back to the difficulty at hand. 

 

But no, what of Draco? 

 

Her face heated, for her own brain completely derailed itself to shag-town. All three. That would be amazing.

 

Dammit. I do need a quick fuck. Or a slow one. Any at all, honestly. 

 

Music played, coming from across the room. Electric guitar ground out to a simple beat, but it was the voice that cut across the chatter that captured her attention. 

 

“Hot summer night, fell like a net…” 

 

It was getting hot in here, she noticed it as soon as that baritone voice started. Hermione cast a surreptitious cooling charm over herself, and after a moment over Romana as well. It was a hint that she should cool it too. 

 

The cheeky witch was leaned in close to Charlie, better to converse in the noise. That cooling charm wasn’t helping Hermione an iota. She’d never fully mastered cooling charms, whereas Draco excelled at them and never passed up an opportunity to subtly remind her of her deficiency. She wouldn’t mind a hand, but he was out of reach. Like Snape. 

 

“Doctor Doctor, give me the news. I’ve got a bad case of loving you…” 

 

Hermione stared at the performers, engrossed. Severus dropped his voice down a full octave for the chorus. Her breathing was more difficult, and she could feel the regular fluttering of her heart, absentmindedly counting it out to 120 beats per minute. 

 

Merlin’s moth-eaten mandible! He’s looking straight at me.  

 

Her heart rate was up to 144 beats per minute, and she worried that she was going to be the one who needed a doctor if she didn’t get a handle on herself. 

 

“...a bad case of loooving… you.” Severus (or was this Toby?) kept his eyes on her, apparently inviting her attention. Good Godric, he’s dropped my IQ 40 points just with his voice. 

 

Severus and Draco did the side to side shuffle characteristic of the 80’s. Was he shaking his hips? Oh, god.

 

Across the room, Severus winked at her, then turned his back to the audience. Rather than being a relief, Hermione’s body broke through her pitiful charm with a wave of embarrassing arousal. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of his bum as he shook it to the beat. 

 

Unfortunately for her, he turned back around and recaptured her gaze with a smug grin. 

 

“A pretty face, don’t make for a pretty heart. I learned that buddy, right from the start!” A whistle sounded from somewhere nearby, and Hermione thought vaguely that it might have been Lucius. 

 

Draco waved a hand, and it seemed so odd that it managed to break her fascination. His eyes sparkled with smug amusement as he pushed his jaw closed with the back of his hand. It was a message. 

 

Oh shit, I’m staring open-mouthed. I might even be drooling. Pull it together, Granger. 

 

Gritting her teeth, Hermione glanced around, looking for someone else to engage before she made an even bigger fool of herself. 

 

Romana and Charlie were chatting companionably, Luna was sitting in Lucius’ lap (ew), and ah! Ginny was seated nearby, watching Draco in open annoyance. 

 

Slipping over, Hermione tucked into the chair next to Ginny. “Where’s Harry?” 

 

Ginny glanced toward the door. “He had to take an urgent floo call.” The sour tone spoke volumes. 

 

“He’s never off, is he?” Hermione felt a certain kinship to Harry, not only from their long friendship but also the nature of their work. 

 

Blowing a strand of coppery hair out of her face, Ginny said, “No.” 

 

She wanted to laugh it off with a joke, but even though she was still reeling from the alcohol taken on an empty stomach and being around Severus unobtainable Snape, she answered with a quiet apology. “I’m sorry, Ginny.” 

 

Ginny made a rude noise, worthy of any Weasley. “Forget it.” She turned her eyes back to the performers, and Hermione did too, forgetting she was meant to be ignoring them. 

 

As though he felt her glance, Severus looked straight back at her, not missing a beat. “I know you like it, you like it on top.” The wizard had the audacity to wink at Hermione. Again! 

 

Hermione slid down in her chair into a defensive hunch, letting her curls swing forward into her face. It probably didn’t hide the incandescent blush that had swiftly returned to her cheeks. 

 

Severus and Draco bobbed back and forth to the music. “Tell me, Mama, are you gonna stop?” 

 

Breaking the silence, Ginny said, “You know, I’ve always thought of Snape as a git. The slimiest, most conniving, gittiest git to rule over all gits.” 

 

“He has good manners, but he usually chooses not to use them.” Hermione pushed herself up straighter as she defended Severus’ character, “You should have seen him at your parent’s, piled all around with children, reading to them until his voice started to break.” She grimaced as she remembered more of that awful night. 

 

Drumming her fingers on the table, Ginny said, “That doesn’t sound like the Snape I remember. I don’t think he gave a damn about anyone when he was Headmaster. As a teacher, he was at least nice to his own house, but he made certain that everyone was nearly as miserable than he was.” Ginny tossed her hair, looking sharply at Hermione.  

 

Keeping her tone gentle, Hermione answered the best she could. “People change, Ginny. He was under a tremendous amount of pressure, and had to maintain appearances, or lose his leverage and possibly lose everything he’d sacrificed so much to protect.” Hermione returned Ginny’s gaze steadily. 

 

Ginny answered the point with a shrug and change of subject, saying, “What about his looks? He’s always deathly pale, and he has those awful scars. They must be all over?” The redhead stole a look over at Snape, the corner of her mouth crooking upwards. 

 

Hermione snorted softly, letting her eyes turn back towards Severus as she replied, “I did the best I could with him, Ginny. We’re just fortunate he survived with his wits, magic, and the ability to speak.” 

 

Not responding to the regret in her friend’s voice, Ginny continued in her critical review. “His voice is tolerable, I suppose. But that nose, Merlin he’ll put a girl’s eye out! And those crooked teeth! No, there’s little wonder that he’s still single.” Ginny added with an air of finality, “No witch in her right mind would go on a second date with him.” 

 

“I’ve long thought of him as one of the most attractive wizards of my acquaintance.” Hermione’s tone sharpened, “And I’ll thank you for being a little more charitable…” 

 

She trailed off as she noticed Ginny silently laughing, both of her hands firmly clamped over her mouth. 

 

“...to him, as he’s done so much…Ginny! Stop laughing this instant!” Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest. 

 

“I knew it! Hermione and Snape sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s…” Ginny dodged when Hermione’s hand shot out, attempting to physically cover her mouth. 

 

“Shhhhhhh! Stop it, I’m already embarrassed enough. He’s not into me, he’s just playing a role.” She let Ginny hold her at bay by her wrists. “Remember? Super-spy?” 

 

Ginny let Hermione go, saying, “Looks to me like he’s very interested in you. And come to think of it, I think it is your solemn witch-duty to find out what’s in those leather pants.” 

 

That got Hermione giggling. “Ginny!” 

 

Keeping her face a mask of mock propriety, Ginny said, “It’s for academic reasons. I want to know if what they say about men with big noses…” 

 

“Stop it right now! Before I hex you.” Hermione fingered her wand in its holster. 

 

Ginny leaned over, looking towards the wizard in question. “Alright, but you can’t get out of this. Witches all over the world deserve to know.” 

 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione laughed. “Having only a single subject, I doubt that such an investigation will hold any water with serious publications.” 

 

“Well, we have to start somewhere.” Ginny licked her fingers and set about fixing Hermione’s hair. “Shoulders back, pop those fit tits, and get to work, sister.” 

 

Hermione turned back to watch Severus as he sang the last refrain. 

 

“I got a bad case of loving you.” 

 

Damn. Well. Here goes. 

 

Against every self-protective instinct, Hermione squared her shoulders and smiled back at Severus. 

 

His eyes widened a fraction, and for a brief moment, there was a tangible connection between them, similar to the one she’d felt stretching between them as she walked away from him that night in the club. 

 

Draco slapped Severus on the shoulder, breaking the spell. Hermione was disappointed further when Lucius joined them, blocking her view. 

 

She rose to her feet, feeling disappointed and heartily foolish. Now that the song was over, Snape evinced no interest in her. She was reading him wrong, and she was making an ass of herself. Again. She needed to clear her head and think. “I’m just going to step out for a moment, Gin.” 

 

“Are you alright? I’ll come with you.”

 

Hermione waved Ginny back down. “Thanks, but no. I need some fresh air. Harry will be back any minute. I’ll be fine, don’t you worry.” 

 

Narrow-eyed in concern, Ginny asked, “You have your wand?” 

 

“Of course. I’m not stupid. Just in…” Hermione couldn’t say that word. Love. No. Not again. “Just popping out for a moment. I promise I won’t take long, alright?” She didn’t wait for her friend to respond, striding out of the room in search of clarity. 

  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Draco followed his father and Severus over to the bar where two shots waited for them. “What’s this?” 

 

Lucius said, “Potter ordered everyone a round of shots.” His lips quivered in a poorly suppressed smirk. “They’re Luna’s suggestion. I do love her droll sense of humour.” 

 

Severus picked up a shot and examined the layers. “Meant to go down in one swallow, I take it, Charles?” 

 

The barman nodded once, “Of course, sir.”

 

As Severus drank it down, Lucius said, “It’s called A Quick Fuck.” 

 

Snape’s eyes bulged in surprise, having been mid-swallow. To his credit, he didn’t choke or splutter, but he did have a rasp in his voice when he recovered enough to grumble, “Enjoy your laughs now, Lucius.” 

 

Clearing his throat, Draco asked, “Speaking of Potter, where did he go? For that matter, where’s Granger?” 

 

Lucius tapped the wooden surface of the bar. “I think Harry was called away for work. Healer Granger stepped out as well, and not too long ago. She seemed out of sorts.” 

 

Draco frowned. Severus was laying it on thick, but he hadn’t expected Granger to run away. “Maybe I should go after her.” 

 

Behind Severus’ back, Lucius’ hand gestured with a sharp cutting motion. Oh, right. That’s Severus’ job. 

 

Severus growled, “You should mind your own problems, Draco. If I am not mistaken, I am afraid Dr Lundar and Charlie have formed an impromptu alliance. You’d better get over there before they finalize any treaties without your input.”

 

Anxiety’s teeth bit deeper into his chest. Draco had been able to ignore the feeling briefly, but now it had all of his attention. Wait, did Charlie have his arm about Romana’s waist? He didn’t think they’d met before tonight. He managed to suppress a low whine of confusion, but only just. 

 

A throat cleared next to him. It was his father, who’d moved down the bar to stand closer. “Son, your mother is probably better at giving good advice in these situations, but let me share an observation if I may?” Lucius spoke in a low voice, a soothing tone that he’d used to read fantastic stories every night.  

 

Gulping, Draco looked back towards his ex and his lover. He didn’t trust his voice at that moment, so he nodded his assent. 

 

“What I see here are only possibilities. You like Dr Lundar, yes?” 

 

Draco shrugged a shoulder, feeling as though he might betray Charlie if he spoke it aloud. It was an effort but tore his eyes away from his beau to watch Potter returning to his wife’s side. He kept the objects of his true attention in his peripheral vision. It wasn’t good form to stare. Besides, people expected him to stare at Potter. 

 

Rapping the back of his ring on the wood, Lucius said, “And your intentions are quite serious regarding Charlie Weasley?” 

 

Taking in a deep breath, Draco forced the air back out through his nose, trying to let off some of his steam that way. “I believe so, father.” He’d not discussed his relationship with Charlie openly with family before this. What might have been an awkward conversation was made easy. Did father really not mind? 

 

Chuckling, Lucius prodded him on the arm, prompting Draco to look at him. 

 

What Draco saw in his father’s face surprised him. Rather than the proper staid gravity of a pureblood wizard, Lucius sparkled with amusement. “Luna thinks dating a dragon tamer is very clever of you, by the way. She has ideas that I don’t wish to consider, so arm yourself, my lad.” 

 

If he weren’t already wound tighter than a merfolk’s elastic G-string, Draco might have shared in the levity. As it was, he had hoped for something more substantial than a warning about Luna’s twisted mind. “Faaaaather.” 

 

“Right. So when I look, what I see are two people who you admire, and in turn presumably hold some regard for you, yes?” 

 

Cheeks warming, Draco wished that his father would get to the point. “I believe that to be the case, although I am made to wonder.” 

 

“Ah, ah ah. Stop right there. This is the hard part for us, no doubt. The important question is, do you trust Charlie? Are you afraid to close your eyes around him?”  

 

Draco blinked hard, bidding the tears that threatened to break through his composure to fuck off. “Charlie would never intentionally hurt me. He’ll... He will probably just let me down gently later.” He could smell brine. Bollocks. This is absolutely mortifying.

 

A cold wave of magic caressed Draco’s face. “Son, you can’t think that way. These people are your treasures. Friends, lovers, or maybe even both.” 

 

Draco snorted in disbelief, daring to look at his father. Did he really just say that? 

 

Lucius’ eyes were warm, the laugh lines showing as he continued his paternal pep talk. ”I think you have an abundance of blessings.” He arched a brow at him, as though Draco were particularly slow. “After all, Charlie and Romana both have excellent taste. See where the evening leads you.” 

 

“You really think so?” Draco spoke quietly.

 

His father answered with a jaw-rattling slap to Draco’s back. “Absolutely.” 

 

Coughing, Draco smoothed a hand over his hair. “Thanks.” He warded off any further physical display of affection by adding, “Be careful with the threads. I don’t want any wrinkles.” 

 

Lucius pulled away with reasonably good grace. “Merlin forbid! A Malfoy with a hair out of place.”  

 

“Accept nothing less than the best.” Draco’s response was automatic, engraved on his psyche from infancy. Tugging at his collar, he stepped away from the bar, carefully calculating his retreat to the gent’s for a moment away from his well meaning father and the social pressure that threatened to overwhelm his composure.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Obviously, the songs mentioned and quoted in this chapter are no more mine than anything associated with Harry Potter. 
> 
> Credits:   
> * Love Shack, recorded by The B52's. Lyrics by Kate Pierson, Fred Schneider, Keith Strickland, and Cindy Wilson.   
> ** "Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor)" is a 1978 song, written and originally recorded by Moon Martin, and sung a year later by Robert Palmer.   
> *** "Heart Attack" is by Demi Lovato and would have been on the radio in the current time-line.


	17. Chapter 12 and 7/8: Life's a Game Made for Everyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to betas Ms_Anthrop, Havelocked, and deweydecimateher. Any mistakes are purely my own. 
> 
> This is additional material for a scene I didn't have time to write for sshg_giftfest last year. The prompt was given by Geminisister.

 

 

 

 

Life’s a Game Made for Everyone

  


The rooftop terrace of Quaffles was quiet, the establishment having raised a ward engineered to hold back all of the noise from the busy streets of London four stories below. 

 

The late spring evening was dry, and the perpetual cloud cover only partly obscured the quarter moon overhead. Hermione shivered in the night air, regretting not having thought to bring a jacket, even though it would have ruined the effect of her dress. 

 

This night had been agonizing. It was painfully confusing to be the focus of Toby’s flirtation, which she’d probably started when she stumbled into him. 

 

She should have known better, in retrospect. As a full-fledged Healer, possessed of both magical and mundane medical qualifications, she could give an impromptu dissertation on why she was a special sort of stupid for drinking alcohol on top of too little sleep and an empty stomach. 

 

One thing was certain: she had no business imbibing anything mind-altering around Severus Snape. Her heart was so confused, and there was no knowing what she’d have done if she had to face him so soon after his performance of ‘Bad Case of Loving You.’ He was teasing, playing with her affections. That was the only explanation that made any sense. 

 

 _What am I going to do?_ she wondered. Hermione’s euphoric mind uncharacteristically lent itself to a moment of whimsy by way of answer. 

 

An angel-- a manifestation of her better judgement, dressed in white with halo and wings-- appeared on her right shoulder, ready to dispense advice. _You’re going to order a vial of sober-up, pull up your big girl knickers and get on with helping Draco break in Snape and Lucius like you said you would._  

 

A wee red horned devil appeared on Hermione’s left shoulder. In direct opposition to the angel’s plan, she sighed dreamily. _Break in Severus? Oh, yes. Let’s do that._

 

In spite of herself, Hermione giggled at the mental apparitions. 

 

 _Oh, don’t start with that foolish nonsense_ , the angel grumbled. _You’re no Lavender Brown!_  

 

In a studied contrast, the devil was clearly hot-headed. Waving her perfectly manicured claws in the air, she said, _He started it. I’m just following his lead. He wore those leather trousers again. They should be Unforgivable with an arse like that. Lord Lucifer, I just want to rub…_  

 

Hermione slapped her hands over her mouth, as though that might have ANY effect on her shambolic thoughts. No! 

 

The angel tsk tsk tsk’d reprovingly. _You have legendary amounts of self-control and poise. Healer Granger, you are better than this, and you must prove it! He’s already made his feelings known. Respect his wishes and forget this fantasy!_

 

Letting go of her mouth, Hermione felt her amusement drain away as those memories floated back to the surface. She still hurt. _He was as thorough in his rejection of me as he is in all things_ , she thought sadly. _It would be so much simpler if I could hate him as much as he dislikes me._

 

 _Are you so sure about that?_ From her other shoulder, the devil’s logic was dangerous. _It seems to me like he is attracted to you. What would you do if he did have a change of heart?_

 

The problem was, Hermione wasn’t certain. Why did she feel so drawn to him? He wasn’t the only smart wizard on the planet, surely? She knew wizards who were infinitely more pleasant in manner and looks. Severus wasn’t handsome. In fact, he typically went out of his way to be unattractive. 

 

The angel piped in, _Well, I will admit, Professor Snape was incredibly hot that day in duelling club. Whatever did we see in Lockhart, I wonder?_ When both Hermione and the devil turned to look at her, she fluttered her wings in holier-than-thou embarrassment. _Honestly. I’m good. Not blind._  

 

Hermione stepped over to the railing to lean against it. She whispered aloud, “You are supposed to be helping, Angel. Not tempting me further down a dangerous path.” 

 

It was the angel’s turn to sigh. _I know, and I’m sorry. But the truth is that you don’t just fancy him. You respect him, you admire him for his personal strength and integrity, and regrettably, he is probably one of the few men out there who has a chance of meeting you on many levels. He understands what you have been through, and to him, you aren’t a larger than life character in the news. At worst, he remembers you as you were in his classroom: a spotty, frizzy-haired girl whose drive to succeed got on what had to be his last nerve, the poor man. We had no idea of what he suffered..._

 

Before she could feel properly guilty, the devil decided to have her say. _Don’t you DARE go there, feather-brain. He was our teacher, and he insulted us in a very personal manner, publically. It was hateful, and very unprofessional. He’s a gods-damned bully. In fact, Hermione, I change my mind. He isn’t sexy at all, and I think we should light those cursed leather trousers on fire right now, for old time’s sake! I bet they’d burn a treat._

 

Torn, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head into her hands. She needed to tune these thoughts out, for this line of reasoning was getting her absolutely nowhere.  

 

_So, to recap, Angel you advise that I suppress these feelings, but you, Devil, encourage me to grab him by the arse. This I could follow, but now, Angelmione, you suggest he could be the one wizard who could really understand us, and Devilmione, you say fuck him and the thestral he rode in on. Which is it, girls?_

 

The sound of the access door behind her squeaking open stopped any answer from coming. Bollocks. What now? 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a lick of flame burst into being, transforming the end of a cigarette to glowing embers. As she turned slightly to get a better look, the radiant light intensified, casting enough of a glow for her to identify the intruder. Toby. Severus. Professor Snape. 

 

A spike of irritation soured her mood further. He was too early. She’d not yet decided if she wanted to hex him or kiss him. 

 

Dammit. 

 

The devil hopped up and down, hissing. _FIRE! Pants on fire!_  

 

 _That saying is meant for liars, not massive pillocks!_ retorted the angel. 

 

Hermione settled for vanishing his lit cigarette. 

 

Both devil and angel disappeared in a puff of feathers mingled with brimstone, their sniggering echoing in her ears. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Severus held his breath for a moment, letting the smoke truly permeate his lungs before tipping his head back to direct the smoke upwards to the black sky. He disliked the city. Only the brightest stars were visible so deep in London, even on a cloudless night, the skies polluted by perpetually lit street lamps. It made it harder to fly without being seen as well. 

 

_“Evanesco.”_

 

He rubbed his fingers together, where his lit cigarette had been moments before. Granger had managed to get one up on him, he’d have to admit it. “Now that was snide, witch. Have you asthma, or is this merely a show of your Healer’s fine sensibilities?” 

 

She stood with her back to him, leaning on the metal rail that enclosed the rooftop space. It was large enough to host parties in fine weather and off to the side were stacks of tables and chairs, covered against London’s unforgiving winter. The world was on the threshold of spring, still chilled and barren.  

 

Hermione was distinctly out of place, for there was nothing mysterious or cold about her. She was in full summer’s bloom. He noticed her shiver, and it didn’t surprise him that her little cocktail dress wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Why hadn’t the bloody woman cast a Warming Charm?

 

He’d nearly forgotten that he’d asked a question when she answered, “Smoking is bad for your health.” 

 

After taking a few steps closer so that he could see her better in the low light, he grumbled, “You think I don’t know that?” 

 

The light from beside the egress door reflected in her eyes when she turned around to glare at him. “I am proud of the work we did to fix your throat and restore your voice. You are a masterpiece of modern magical medicine, make no mistake.” She shifted to the side, a subtle invitation, for there was plenty of space. 

 

Severus snorted quietly. “I hadn’t thought to be here, you know.” He leaned on the railing beside her, checking the urge to pull her into his own warmth. 

 

Hermione turned around, keeping her back in contact with the rail to face him fully. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she tilted her head back to look upwards. He almost missed it when she murmured, “You could fly away at any time, you know. You could have left us a thousand times already.” 

 

He was entranced by her graceful arms, her skin luminous in the twilight of the city but thankfully some part of his brain was working, for he answered, “It would be but a paltry escape.” 

 

She chuckled, “Draco would be on you like a niffler let loose at Gringotts.”

 

Severus added, “I’d never miss these festivities. You are all so... diverting.” 

 

“And here I thought you were the one entertaining us.” Hermione’s lips spread into a grin. “You do have quite a stage presence. You always have come to think about it.” 

 

He pulled out another cigarette and lit it wandlessly, a distraction from that discomforting smile. Granger’s compliments were teaching him to hope where he had no right given his previous behaviour. _She forgave Ronald Weasley, more than once._

 

Severus dared to look back at her after taking a long drag. She was focused on his cigarette, her flirty smile twisting into a scowl. The transformation cheered him considerably. He lifted his brows and said, “Stage presence?” 

 

“A natural talent for directing the attention of an audience. You control how others perceive you, really it is masterfully done. Did you spend any time studying theatre?” Her eyes remained fixed on his cigarette as she spoke, and he expected it wouldn’t be long before she vanished it as well. 

 

Taking another drag, he watched her brow draw down, matching the scowl on her lips. The fag was fanning the fire of the witch’s ire quite nicely. Judging her to be sufficiently distracted, he unshipped his wand and cast a silent warming charm, bidding his magic to start with her face before spreading downwards very slowly over the distracting curves of her body. “I never had the time to faff about with hobbies.” 

 

He didn’t need to go to some poncey acting school, it was in his blood. His father had been little more than a two-bit con artist, and Severus had learned to read people at his mother’s knee. Legilimency helped. His mother was a natural empath and she relied on her talent to survive, even after she’d been reduced to the pathetic status of a wandless witch. He yanked himself away from those memories. He was maudlin enough as it was. 

 

In the muddle, he missed Hermione’s change in attention and attitude. When he glanced back down to check, she was staring directly at him with her head tilted -- reminiscent of a confused puppy. One of those cocker spaniels, and damned if she didn’t have the soft brown eyes right. That thrice-damned smile remained absent. At least there was that going for him, wasn’t there? 

 

“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” she said, looking away. “Are you Toby or Professor Snape tonight?” 

 

Severus winced. _Brightest witch of her age and she never grew out of it._ He shouldn’t have been surprised. But how to answer her query? He was neither really. He’d developed a cast of supporting personas, but in the hallway outside of Granger's flat, a new Severus was born. He’d meant to rely on Toby, but his naturally flirtatious manners felt wrong. His Professor persona wouldn’t be caught dead in such... jazzy keks or crooning 80’s love songs like a love-sick sod. 

 

Pulling himself free of his thoughts, Severus realised that he’d been silent too long and fell back on instinct and an attempt to evade the question with bald truth. “Wot it is, right… is really that I’m neither. Just call me Severus, or Snape if you prefer. I’ll answer either way.”  

 

The witch’s gaze had returned to him, and after a moment, those soft brown eyes hardened to an all too familiar glare, and her frown was firmly back in place. 

 

 _Bollocks! That wasn’t the right answer. Say something else!_ “Draco was asking after you, duck. I’ll tell him you’re busy washing your hair, shall I?” It wasn’t the best, but a change in the subject felt like a good plan. And it was true. 

 

A moment too late, he noticed the tell-tale narrowing of her eyes. She vanished his half-finished cigarette once again with a snap of her fingers. “Disgusting habit, Mr Snape.” 

 

It was perhaps with an overly large measure of self-indulgence that gave Severus license to stare at the witch’s swaying hips as she stalked toward the egress. By the time she tossed her hair to glance back at him, he’d pulled himself together, and a newly lit fag hung from his lips. 

 

Hermione fixed him with a stern Healer glare, and Severus admired the way vexation lit up her eyes. Just how far could he push the witch before she snapped?  

 

When she spoke, it was with exasperation dripping from her every word. “Don’t dawdle too long, Mr Snape. It’s my turn to perform, and you are supposed to be learning from me. Draco dragged me out post-call for your benefit, you know.” 

 

Then she was gone, letting the door bang shut behind her before he could do more than exhale a cloud of nicotine-laced smoke. _What rubbish. She isn’t here for my sole benefit._

 

Then again, was she? The idea was both charming and disarming. 

 

A thought bubbled to the surface, and he groaned for he could not deny its truth. _I am hot for teacher._ “Fuck.” 

  


 

* * *

 

 

Charlie and Romana make a striking couple, Draco thought as he watched the pair sing. They’d chosen a classic Heart song, “Magic Man.”  *

 

Draco sat, straddling a straight back chair the wrong way, resting his chin on arms braced upon the chair’s back. This way, his mouth couldn’t hang open and betray the depth of his emotions as he watched his boyfriend and his ex sing a classic that took on a whole new dimension of meaning.

 

When Charlie changed the lyrics to _“Never seen eyes so grey,”_ Draco’s mouth went dry. He’d been paying close attention as it was, for he was working on gathering up his courage to talk with them. 

 

A pang of guilt struck Draco when Romana sang, _“You don’t have to love me yet, let’s get high for a while.”_ He had made an effort to pursue her after she left, and she couldn’t honestly fault him. Could she? Did he somehow fail to make her feel treasured for the brief time that they were together? 

 

The sight of the pair of them singing in his direction sent him reeling as they belted out the refrain: _“Try, try, try to understand, he’s a magic man.”_ This show of solidarity sent a message: Draco deserved to be punished. Teased. 

 

Draco stopped trying to understand. His heart knocked a tortured tattoo against his breastbone as the intensity continued to soar higher. The dynamic between his handsome wizard of a boyfriend and the brilliant witch was intense. Arousing. They seemed comfortable with one another, as though they had known one another for years. Too comfortable.

 

As if on cue, Romana ran her fingers up Charlie’s bicep, her eyes sparkling with something suspiciously like mischief as she sang, _“I cast my spell of love on you.”_  

 

He’d been hoping for some sign of reassurance from Charlie. Draco watched with growing confusion as Charlie captured those lovely questing fingers and kissed them while locking eyes with Draco.  

 

Stifling a whimper, Draco was grateful for the shelter of the chair. Charlie’s hazel eyes darkened, and Draco recognized desire echoing back to him through their connection. 

 

Draco couldn’t suppress his gasp of loss when Charlie released him, turning that intensity back to Romana who seemed to be enjoying the song. She was swaying with the music as she crooned the lyrics, her head tilted back in carefree abandon. 

 

 _“He’s a magic man…oooooh.”_  

 

Fascinated, Draco watched as she moved her hands down her body, caressing her curves in time to the music. He’d slouched, trying to deny how well he recalled the feel of her when he’d touched her not so long ago. 

 

Romana’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled slyly. She’d caught him staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her as she belted out, _“He’s got magic hands… mmm yee-ah!”_  

 

Warmth blossomed at the tip of his swelling cock, for the combination of Charlie and Romana had him sitting up and taking notice. Draco shifted, trying to relieve the pressure and avoid the tell-tale wet spot on his tailored trousers. Charlie would understand, but he was starting to approach the limits of what provocation Draco would willingly tolerate. 

 

So much for Malfoy poise and dignity. 

 

The performance was over, and the room burst into applause, breaking the spell’s hold on Draco. Laughing, Romana and Charlie embraced one another. As the handsome Weasley released her, Romana lifted up on tiptoe to kiss Charlie on the corner of his mouth, to which he answered with a grin and a few words that failed to carry, since he’d cancelled the _Sonorus_.  

 

Frowning and feeling bereft, Draco thought to himself, _Maybe I should have a wank and get this itch out of my system._

 

As he twisted about to see if anyone was watching, he noticed his Godfather return. Draco decided to make a second tactical retreat to the gent’s, not feeling equal to interaction with anyone at the moment. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Granger dragging Mrs Potter up to the front, the frizzy-headed witch’s momentum (and swaying hips) drawing the eyes of just about everyone in the bar. _Good, she’ll provide a perfect distraction._ Draco cast a notice me not charm and slipped away before anyone could stop him. 

  


* * *

 

 

On the way back to the floor, a spark of fury lit the dry tinder of Hermione’s resolve. She’d had it with that wizard. Had it! Severus Toby Snape was fucking around with her mind for his own amusement, and it burned her up. 

 

 _One minute he’s acting the confident swain, flirting in those leather pants that should be made illegal, and the next minute he’s changed back to a disdainful erudite arsehole who enjoys treading on my every last nerve!_ It was a good thing that she was shouting internally, for she could continue to rave without needing to take a breath. _To top it all off, he tries to play on my sympathy by pretending to be a confused, emotionally handicapped male!_

 

Aloud, Hermione punctuated the end of her rant by aiming a wandless Depulso at a chair that had the audacity to be pulled out too far from its table, sending it back into place with enough force to make it rock on its feet.  

 

Alarm was evident in Harry and Ginny’s eyes as Hermione stalked over to them. “Ginny, it’s our turn. Stand up with me?” 

 

“Hermione, what’s going on?” Ginny asked, cautiously. She was already standing up, with her manicured hands held up where they could be seen. 

 

Hermione growled, “For Merlin’s sake. I’m not a bomb. I just... Snape fucking pisses me off! I don’t know why I’d expect anything different from the bloody man…” She cut herself off, realising that she was about to tip over into a dangerous tirade that wouldn’t do her any credit and would most likely inform the whole club of much more of her opinions than was healthy to share.  

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance of knowing and taking the hint, Hermione sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing herself to regain at least an appearance of control. 

 

“Can I get you a drink, Hermione?” said Harry. He was such a good friend. 

 

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe some mineral water?”

 

Ginny locked arms with Hermione and leaned in to whisper. “So, I’m in. Let’s stick it to Snape. What’s the plan?” 

 

“Complicated.” Hermione was just tipsy enough to snigger aloud at the dual meaning of her answer. She amused herself at least, but she knew there was no way that Ginny would get the joke. “We need to take our turn at the mic next.” 

 

Beaming, Ginny raised her eyebrows in conspiratorial interest. “I never get to cause a spot of trouble anymore, this is going to be fun. I can tell. What do you need me to do?” 

 

Still chortling, Hermione started to walk towards where Charlie and Romana stood at the front, having just finished. Insistently, she towed Ginny along with her, their heads bent together. “Just chime in on the refrain.”

  


* * *

 

 

The atmosphere was tense in the club, and Severus found his fingers itching for his wand. It was a foolish impulse, he’d little need for it should a fight break out, but the danger in this club was on the unfamiliar territory of the battlefield of love. 

 

He’d had a handful of brief flings, but his personality and sharp tongue drove witches away time and time over again. When war had broken out for the second time, he’d lost any desire for dalliance. He couldn’t trust anyone, and his colleagues had to be held at arm’s length for the sake of his mission. 

 

He’d been called ‘the vicar’ by his old school chums, but he’d never admit that he’d subconsciously chosen his clothes to mimic that sort of aesthetic. Never. 

 

Things were different now. He’d changed, just as the world had changed while he was suspended outside of time. He was trying to adjust, and while the teaching provided some satisfying social interactions, he found himself thinking about Granger. Ever since the night, she’d confessed her intentions his thoughts returned to her. He’d driven himself to look elsewhere, but very quickly found that the sort of women who he met at pubs were generally self-absorbed gossips. “Clubbing” is what men did apparently nowadays to find women who were interested in a bit of dating, but this held as much appeal as that OK Stupid web dating service that Draco had force-fed him weeks ago. 

 

The online candidates didn’t fool him with their oh so casual inquiries into his life and livelihood, less subtle than a Hufflepuff with a guilty conscience. One woman he’d met, a barrister, was bold to the point of pain. Did people really talk about their kinks on a first date? 

 

Draco had offered to introduce him to a witch who’d approached him with interest, but on further investigation, he concluded that she was as predatory as the others.

 

Granger was fundamentally different. She understood better than most what he’d been through, how damaged he was. And yet she still wanted him. She could hold her own in a debate and could understand him without needing to refer to a dictionary. She caught onto his jokes. And she still wanted him, or so he hoped. 

 

Did he find himself attracted to her just because she’d shown a genuine interest in him? Was it simply convenience? The path of least resistance?

 

Severus reined in the urge to look over at Hermione, even when the music started. It was a relaxed tempo, acoustic and folksy. 

 

A female voice, not belonging to Granger, started, “ _Life’s like this… uh huh, uh huh, that’s the way it is…_ ” 

 

Potter waved him over, and Severus was out of sorts enough that he’d accepted the invitation before he’d thought it through. 

 

The Boy Who Didn’t Sing Karaoke hissed at Severus, “You’d better sit down, Professor. Hermione’s got a Billywig in her bonnet and I’m afraid it has your name on it.” 

 

Severus hesitated, considering the wisdom of accepting such an invitation from Harry Potter of all people. Ill at ease, Severus glanced around the room. Draco was absent, and Lucius was coming his way. Why did this feel like a trap? 

 

 _“Chill out, what’re you yellin for. Lay back, it’s all been done before…”_ Granger had taken over the verse, a smile on her face. He avoided eye contact, checking to be certain she was safe.  

 

A silent charm failed to reveal anything or anyone harbouring malignant intent to Severus. It was a spell that he’d developed for use in the classroom in his earliest years as a teacher. He let his attention drift back to the front of the class, so to speak. 

 

Hermione pointed at him with the fire of purpose in her eyes as she sang. _“... you could only let it be, you will see -- I like, you the way you are …”_

 

The words hit him upside the head like a tonne of bricks and knocked all further thoughts from his mind. Granger is the danger, not anyone or anything else. 

 

As if under a compulsion spell Severus’ legs buckled, and he sat down heavily on a chair at Potter’s table with a thump. The scrape of a nearby chair on the floor and a murmured greeting from Potter barely penetrated the confused buzzing in Severus’ head.  

 

The brunette’s hair shone brightly under the lights, which were charmed to be more intense up front over the witches as they sang. She tossed her curls in tandem with Ginevra, who flipped her curtain of auburn hair and put her hand on her hip in a pose of mock-irritation. 

 

_“You come, over unannounced_

_Dressed up, like you're something else...”_

 

The witches were delivering the lyrics back and forth in a parody of argument. 

 

_“Take off, all those poncy clothes_

_You know, you're not fooling anyone.”_

 

Ginevra was on the defence with her arms crossed as Hermione stalked around her gesturing up and down at her tasteful little black frock. Hermione turned to look over her shoulder as she continued to sing.

 

_“...you become somebody else.”_

 

Hermione’s glare hit Severus with the force of a direct blow to the solar plexus, and the air fled his lungs in a groan. Someone put a hand on his shoulder, but he was still too paralyzed by the shock. 

 

Sure, he’d fantasized about Hermione singing to him ever since he first saw the Wootube recording. Having her do it in person was a completely different experience. The raw power of her anger beat at him in waves. 

 

Feigning nonchalance, or at least intending to, he commented in a hoarse voice, “Are you sure that’s not a swarm of homicidal pixies in her bonnet, Potter?” He coughed before adding, “Billywigs are happy, pleasant creatures.” 

 

A familiar laugh sounded just behind him from where Lucius was seated, leaning forward still with his hand on Severus’ shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen our good Healer so angry. Your doing, I presume.” His tone suggested that he thought it was some sort of achievement of which Severus should be proud. 

 

“Nice knowing you, Professor. Hope you don’t mind Oban. It looks like you need this more than I do.” Potter used a tightly controlled knockback jinx to slide the glass of scotch across the wood table.

 

_“...you fall, and you crawl, and you break, and you take…”_

 

He didn’t need to look to know Granger was still staring daggers at him. He had somewhere along the line done something that caused greater offence than his outright rejection, and he was at a complete loss to understand what his sin was this time. He took a sip of the amber liquid and tried to concentrate on the way it coated his tongue and throat with a mild burn that left a taste of smoke in its wake. 

 

It was here that he looked up to find that Harry was watching him, sprawled in his chair, looking like a man who was watching the world burn for his amusement. It made Severus hate him a little more if that was even possible. Prick. 

 

Tilting his head back, he muttered to Lucius, “I’ve no idea of what has Granger so upset.”

 

_“Why do you have to make everything so complicated?”_

 

A snort preceded Lucius’ response. “Don’t you? She’s painfully direct. Obvious, even.”

 

_“...the way you’re acting like somebody else gets me frustrated.”_

 

Severus watched as the witch continued to sing, keeping his face bland as was his habit. He lifted his glass and took a sip of his scotch. It burned very little on the second pass. 

 

Potter leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Auror or no, I don’t wish to deal with any bloodshed tonight, so I’ll do you a favour, sir. It looks like she thinks you’re toying with her, Professor. I can see why. I appreciate a nice arse as much as the next bloke, but it just feels wrong being able to see so much of yours in those…” 

 

Severus spat out the mouthful of scotch he’d been rolling about, not prepared for that. He managed to growl “Potter!” amid his coughing fit. 

 

“That’s my name, sir. Good of you to remember it. What did she say you were going by? Tony, was it?” The blighter was grinning, and it made Snape want to hex his lips off.

 

Lucius answered before Severus could, “No, I believe he was going by Toby. Vulgar name. I can’t believe you are still using it.” The blond was watching Severus recover with barely suppressed amusement. “Potter’s right. Those clothes make you look quite fit, although Draco’s taste in colours is unfortunately trite. Green makes you look sallow, Snape.” 

 

“That’s right rich coming from you, Lucy. Did you or did you not wear white PVC trousers clubbing?” Severus knew he was sniping at his friend, but the comments stung. He pointed at both wizards, narrowing his eyes intentionally before saying, “And the next time I catch either of you so much as glancing at me bum, I’ll melt your eyes right out of your heads.” 

 

With that, Severus took another swig of scotch, glowering and purposefully ignoring his table mates. A whisper in the back of his mind echoed his earlier conversation with Granger.

 

 _Who are you tonight, sir?_  

 

Fuck. It was right there. He dared to look back at where she stood, performing. He’d given her more reasons tonight to hex him into the ground. In turn, he’d been blindsided by her beauty and caught off guard by the strength of his reaction. Not only was she lovely; she was also brilliant. The fire of her anger only added to her charm. She stood up to him, teased him. Blimey, but I have it bad. 

 

She’d turned her attention back to Ginevra, and her intensity had lessened, the lines on her face softening as the music became quieter. _“...promise me I’ll never find you faking…”_   

 

Hermione’s untrained voice was lovely to Severus when it was steeped in vitriol, but now she sounded like the wistful enchantress who ensnared him from the WooTube video that Draco had forced him to watch. 

 

The witches stood closer to one another, and Ginevra reached out and ran a comforting hand across Hermione’s shoulder, before extending herself to pull Hermione into a half-embrace. 

 

As the music came back to its previous volume, Lucius released Severus’ shoulder to lean in and say, “Fashion choices aside, let me ask you a question, one to which only you know the answer. At the end of the night, when the drinks are gone, and the lights are low, who do you want to be when you bid Hermione good night?” 

 

Severus watched as Hermione swiped a hand across her eye and gave her friend a smile as they launched into what was most likely the last verse of the song. Alarmed, Severus noticed the brightness of tears in her eyes. _Damnation._

 

Potter hadn’t finished having his say. He spoke in a carrying voice that grated on Severus’ raw nerves. “If you are half as brilliant as Hermione thinks you are, sir, you’ve realised that she has had enough of whatever game you are playing. I love her like a sister, and if you can’t be honest with her, I’ll thank you to fuck off. Understand?” 

 

Instead of making an issue of Potter’s dubious ability to follow through on that overt threat, Severus nodded stiffly. He wouldn’t have had a chance to say much, for Lucius chimed in with what passed as his distinctive sort of wisdom. 

 

“If I were you, Severus, I’d grovel. Fall at her feet and let her hex you until she feels better and then grovel some more. Throw yourself on her mercy, she won’t inflict worse than what you’ve suffered at the hands of your foes, and she just might be the most important ally of your life.”

 

Lucius patted Severus on the shoulder and stood, leaving the table to rejoin his fiancée. 

 

Grunting a dismissal, Severus’ mind was already miles away, formulating a plan to salvage something out of the ashes of this -- how did Miss Shacklebolt describe it when she warned him of an imminent cauldron meltdown? A canned conflagration? No... 

 

Ah yes. _Dumpster fire._  

   


* * *

 

Hermione didn’t feel any better. Sure, the sharp edge to her fury had been scraped away, but what was left felt raw. She’d made a beeline for the Ladies’, bypassing Ginny’s invitation to join her. Severus… Toby… whatever guise he was wearing, that utter git was sitting with Harry. Harry Potter. 

 

Surely the end times were nigh. _Bollocks_ , she thought. _Can this night go any slower?_  

 

Snape didn’t give her any more reaction or encouragement than he had as when she’d presented him with a perfectly brewed potion as a student. She was genuinely disappointed by his more recent rejections, although she'd no expectation, no understanding with which to reproach him as he’d played her in a way that he had to know would give her hope. The lyrics were perfect, expressing nearly precisely what she meant to say. So why did she feel worse?

 

She wished he’d just come out with what he was on about so that she could get on with her life. She didn't believe that he could be so cruel as to play with her feelings out of malice. No, it was her own eagerness that allowed her to see and hear wrongly that which, Circe curse her foolish heart, she still ardently desired.  

 

When can I get out of here? Hermione was having trouble finding reasons to stay. _This is unbearable. My feelings are my responsibility. I have no one to blame but myself._

 

She could feel the prick of tears behind her eyes as she stared down at the intricate pattern left by the grain of the wood of the tabletop and tried to pull herself together. At length, a tall glass of transparent liquid slid into her field of view. Nothing besides a few cubes of ice floated in its depths, tinkling pleasantly as they jostled against the side of the crystal.

 

The voice Hermione most dreaded and yearned for spoke from a standing position nearby. ”I thought you could use a restorative, Healer Granger.”

 

Squinting at the drink, Hermione did not move to claim it. ”Something from your personal arsenal?”

 

To her chagrin, the Potions Master chuckled as he pulled out the chair next to her, ”Hydroxylic acid. Simplest, most efficacious hydration potion known to mankind. May I sit?”

 

Inwardly, Hermione summoned her courage and lifted her eyes to look at Snape. Her mouth spoke automatically even as her eyes were busy trying to make sense of the changes in his appearance. “Of course.” 

 

Snape, for lack of a better moniker, had dismissed the glamour and wore his own face. The changes he’d made were easier to catalogue in their absence. Back were the familiar, deep lines about his eyes and brow, and his impressive nose was back to the bent shape it’d taken on after one too many blows to the face. Faint silvery lines ran across his neck and hands, paler than his already fair skin. 

 

Additionally, his shirt had been charmed from the emerald green tee to a black collared shirt, and furthermore, it was buttoned up to the neck save one. It was made of silk, the glossy shine enticing her to touch. If he were any other of her acquaintances, she’d not have hesitated to test it out. 

 

Not wishing to be caught staring, she turned her attention to the glass of water and raised it up to take a cautious sip. The shock of the cold sharpened her focus, and she noticed Snape drumming his fingers on the table, carefully avoiding making any sound. 

 

He stilled his fingers and commented, “So, this has been an entertaining night.”  

 

She watched him curiously. He was scanning the room, looking everywhere but at her in a way that made her believe that his attention was in fact right here with her and that it discomfited him. “I suppose it has.” 

 

His fingers resumed a repetitive tattoo and lacking for anything further to say, she took another drink of water. A long one, ending in a gasp of satisfaction. 

 

Severus’ attention was clearly back upon her. “Come now, Healer Granger. We must have some conversation. I could comment on the song selections, and you could comment on the acoustics of the room or the quality of the drinks.” 

 

“You make small talk by procedure, then?” 

 

Laugh lines appeared around his eyes, although he did not show any other outward sign of amusement. “Perhaps. It allows a certain efficiency, nay… elegance of conversation, getting us both what we desire. Neither of us is patient by nature, and this will permit us to converse with minimal inconvenience.”  

 

“I can understand why such formalities provide structure and predictability. I doubt that I will ever truly be facile with the complicated social rules inherent to high magical society, nor am I certain that I have the patience to learn them even if I could find anyone interested teaching a common swot such as myself.” Her temper hadn’t improved much with age. Neither had she lost any bitterness at being judged unworthy due to the unfortunate circumstances of her birth. 

 

Snape looked as though he’d swallowed something sour. 

 

Unable to stop herself, she reached out and placed a hand over his with a tight smile. “You have been very tolerant of all of this, Professor Snape. I know it is for Lucius and Luna’s sake, but I appreciate what you’re doing for them. Luna is a dear friend, and I’ll admit that Lucius is growing on me. Like a wart.”  

 

Some people startle by jumping or recoiling. Snape showed his astonishment by becoming completely still.

 

Thinking that she’d offended him, Hermione released his hand after a quick squeeze with a tug of regret in her chest. _Foolish heart, you can just stop that_ , she thought to herself. 

 

Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, giving her the excuse to turn away from Snape so that he could recover. Up front, Harry, Ginny and Luna had their heads together, leafing through the catalogue. She wondered, _Where is Draco?_ Charlie and Romana stood guard by the hall that led to the toilets, by the frowns on their faces both ill at ease. 

 

“Merlin! What’s all of that about, I wonder?” She must have said it aloud because Snape let out a derisive snort. 

 

Hermione drained the rest of the water and reflected that she was feeling quite a lot better. “Are you sure that you didn’t put anything extra in here?” She made a show of narrowing her eyes at Snape, but she was sure he’d caught the playful tone in her words for his scowl softened at the rebuke. 

 

“No, I didn’t.” After a few staccato beats of his elegant fingers, Snape turned his sharp eyes on her and asked, “Why? Are you not feeling better? Shall I fetch you something else?” He sat up straight, shifting in preparation to stand. 

 

The man’s motion brought his face closer to hers, and she had to control the impulse to peck him on the cheek. She failed to suppress a blush, for her ears and cheeks burned. 

 

Snape lifted a hand towards her face with an open palm. 

 

Heat rolled down the back of her neck, and Hermione felt giddy as he used the lightest touch to check her forehead, as a mother might check for fever. She dearly wanted to nuzzle into his hand, to kiss those fingers, but she held back. She was supposed to be angry with him, was she not? _I’ve forgiven him, it seems._ Her heart contracted as Snape’s brow furrowed in open concern. For her. 

 

“Are you unwell, Healer Granger? Do you perhaps need something stronger? A fortifying draft? A Pepper Up? Perhaps a cup of tea?” He looked down at the empty glass one eyebrow arching in consideration.  

 

Hermione’s mind generated a list of needs which Snape could get to work on fulfilling immediately if only he were willing, and they were someplace more private. The list scrolled on ever longer as she frantically searched for something safe to request, fighting an internal battle between herself, her Angel and her Demione. _These thoughts are highly inappropriate! Shit, Professor Snape is a Legillimens._ _Get it together, Granger! He’s offering you a potion or a drink. Not a therapeutic cuddle nor a game of hide the wand. Sadly._

 

A shadow fell over their table, and behind her, a throat cleared to attract their attention.

 

Snape’s facial expression drained of evident emotion, dropping back into what Hermione associated with his usual Professorial mien. Hermione’s little Demione whispered, “ _You mean resting bitch face!_ ” The Angel’s laughter tinkled gaily in the back of her mind. 

 

Barely containing a smirk and still warm from the tropical effects of her own imagination, Hermione turned to find Lucius looming close. 

 

“Pardon my intrusion, friends. Hermione, I’m afraid Draco’s come down with something. He won’t leave the lav or let anyone else enter. Would you come and consult? I hate to bother you on an evening off, Master Healer.” The elder Malfoy glanced at Snape as he spoke. 

 

Hermione decided that Lucius was equal parts concerned and annoyed, for there was a tension to his posture, but he smiled when he asked for help. _So Draco’s resorting to dramatics, is he?_ If she didn’t check and he was ill, she’d be neglecting a friend and her duty, and that was something she’d never do, messy personal life notwithstanding. 

 

Muttering, Hermione nodded confirmation to Lucius. “I’ll be there in a moment. Nothing else for it, so it seems.” The second comment was addressed to Snape with a nod of her head. 

 

She didn’t wait for a response from Severus as she turned her attention to her pocket and pulled out a large leather wallet which she placed on the table. A tap of her wand caused the worn black leather to unfold, expanding into what looked like a traditional Doctor’s bag. She opened it and Accio’d a sober-up and a headache potion from its depths, uncorking each and after the requisite sniff test, downed them one after the other with a grimace. 

 

Severus looked on with interest as the vials vanished, as they were manufactured for St Mungos with a recycling charm built-in. Already they’d returned to the basement scullery for processing and reuse.  

 

A few deep breaths later and Hermione was entirely sober and in control of her full mental faculties. She pushed past Charlie and Romana, no doubt the causes of Draco’s sudden infirmity, and banged on the door to the gent’s. “Malfoy, you’d better have your pants on, because I’m coming in whether you like it or not in two seconds.”

 

The door fell open under her fist as the ward he’d set unravelled, but Draco wasn’t immediately in view through the crack. She held up a hand with a professional smile to stop Lucius and Charlie from following her. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll call if we need your assistance.” 

 

Charlie reached up a hand in protest, but Lucius stopped him with a firm grip on the arm. 

  


* * *

 

 

Snape sat pickling in the juices of his own frustration, watching Potter and his wife make a go at a dissonant monstrosity called “If It Makes You Happy” by some tasteless poncho-promoting American artist with a bird for a name.

 

Potter pointed at him at least once before Severus averted his eyes to watch the marginally more pleasing prospect of his wife, Ginevra Potter nee Weasley as she sang much more sweetly than her famous husband. The Boy Who Should Never Be Allowed to Sing Karaoke was mistaking monotonous shouting for singing. Severus wondered if Draco was recording this session. He imagined this memory would be dead useful for blackmail leverage. 

 

It didn’t take long for Granger to emerge from the gent’s with a supportive arm around Draco who was immediately folded into the combined embraces of his boyfriend and Dr Lundar.  

 

He heard the Healer say something to Lucius about allergies and emotional growth, which the elder Malfoy accepted readily enough. She stoutly refused payment from the wizard, folding her black bag back in upon itself before slipping it back into that clever pocket in her dress. Right over the hip that was now swaying its way over to where Severus still sat. 

 

A thrill, much like that associated with battle readiness, passed through him as she approached, and he stood to meet her, pulling out a chair with a nod of invitation. “Healer Granger.” 

 

She shook her head with a rueful smile. “Upon further consideration, I don’t think I ought to stay any longer. I’ve teaching rounds to attend in the morning with the apprentices, and I’m still drained from my thirty-six-hour shift.” 

 

Of course, she was tired. He should have recognised that. A mental image of the witch as he’d glimpsed her fresh from her bed sprung to his mind. It didn’t matter what time of day it was or how tired she was, to his eyes, she was utterly beautiful. Merlin, he was definitely losing his mind. “Well, Healer…” 

 

“Hermione.” She held up a hand. “I am not your Healer any longer, Professor.” 

 

The correction set him off balance, but only for a moment. “Severus.” When her eyes widened, he hastened to clarify. “You are not my Healer, and I am no longer your Professor, and I insist that you extend the same courtesy. I haven’t taught you for almost two years, or sixteen. Depending on your point of view.” Mentally he shook himself. _Stop babbling like a fifth-year._  

 

As she absorbed his request, her eyes brightened, and colour pinked her cheeks. How had he never noticed this wonder of a witch, just under his excessively large nose so long? Her lips parted, and after a moment she said his given name. “Severus.” Her eyes sparkled, and she laughed. “That will take some getting used to, I think.” 

 

He stood watching her, at a loss for words. A tightness about his cheeks was the only indication that his body had lost its mind. He was smiling, perhaps even gaping at her. “Repeat it, please?” His mouth was a traitor too, it seemed. Was nothing under his control? 

 

She raised both eyebrows, her own mouth tugging up in a grip. “Please… what?” 

 

“Please, Hermione,” he said. He paused to observe her eyes flutter shut when he spoke her name. Perhaps he was not alone in this strange dance? “Say my name again. It sounds… nice.” 

 

When the witch opened her eyes, she steadily met his eyes with her own. Her voice was the barest whisper, but he could hear it as clearly as if she’d whispered in a church. “Severus.” 

 

Clearing his throat, he said, “So, when shall I see you next? Your schedule sounds quite rigorous.” 

 

Dropping her eyes away, she blinked for a moment before answering. “We’re both going to appear at the Engagement Party. I think by the schedule, of which a copy is in your possession, that’ll be the next.” The light was fading from her eyes, and her tone more business-like. 

 

Severus’ sense of self-preservation rose to the fore, injecting rational thought in the void left by her impending absence. “Of course. We’ve a lot to accomplish before then.” He held out a hand to her, “I look forward to crushing your team on the floor.” 

 

The witch stared at his hand for a moment before taking it to shake. “May the best team win.” She added with a lilt of mischief, “Which of course, is my team. Naturally.” 

 

“We shall see about that.” He stifled a laugh, turning her hand and bowing a fraction as he brought it to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a light kiss. Over her hand, he looked up to add, “Goodnight, Hermione.” 

 

She tightened her grip before releasing it, reclaiming her hand. “And to you, Severus. Be well.” With that, she turned and walked to say goodnight to the others before making good on her intention. 

 

He fancied that she’d looked at him over her shoulder once before stepping out of view. Ah, wishful thinking. 

  


* * *

 

 

Hermione locked the door to her flat behind her, feeling the relief that comes from escaping a hazardous social situation. She had a lot to process, and the feather-light kiss had left an impression on her hand that was still driving her to distraction. 

 

Snape… _Severus_ behaved very strangely tonight. Maybe this was how he was when he’d had a few pints? Or perhaps it was her own psychological turmoil projecting onto the man, brought to the surface by his proximity and amplified by the inebriation from the Quick Fuck. Mind-fuck was more like it. 

 

She toed out of her shoes as she sought to unpack the walking contradiction that asked her so sweetly to call him Severus, probably a manipulative tactic to diffuse her ire by setting her head spinning in confusion.

 

Her intuition wasn’t satisfied with that explanation. 

 

Casting back, she realised that it wasn’t the alcohol, nothing was as it seemed with Severus. Especially after she’d sobered, she could see that he was distinctly altered. The changes went deeper than the switch in wardrobe to all black and dispelling his masking glamour. 

 

What was that about, the beseeching way he asked her to say his name? She had to admit, it was lovely to listen to his voice slide over her name, not to mention the things that his deep baritone did to her as he articulated her name with such care. 

 

She giggled, thinking to herself, _Maybe that’s a reason that his spellwork is so superior. He has a natural talent for language, for the creation of sound._  

 

On a whim, she sang softly, _“...got a bad case of loving you.”_   ***

 

Shaking her head, she pulled the dress off over her head and replaced it with her sleep shirt. It was old, threadbare, and utterly comfortable. It had belonged to her father, and she’d swiped it for her own before her mother had a chance to cut it up for rags.  

 

 _“...no pills gonna cure my ill, I’ve got a…”_ Hermione lapsed into humming as she hadn’t decided where she was in the verses, and she had too much on her mind. He was playing some sort of game, and now that he’d cast off Toby she was willing to play along. 

 

With a sigh, she trailed into her bathroom to complete her evening ritual. _It really is a shame that we won’t be able to see each other until the party._

 

It wasn’t until Hermione was standing before her mirror, brushing her teeth that the coin finally dropped. 

 

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the schedule well enough, for he’d complained about it right enough. And yet he’d asked her when… 

 

She screwed her eyes shut and concentrated, trying to remember his exact words. 

 

_“So, when shall I see you next? Your schedule sounds quite rigorous.”_

 

Her eyes snapped open. “Shit.” She spit out the toothpaste, stuck her mouth under the running water of the faucet and spit before repeating herself. “SHIT!” She threw her toothbrush down on the counter hard enough that it bounced twice. 

 

“That… that… complete ARSEHOLE of a SLYTHERIN!” She sat down heavily on the loo, lacking for other options in her tiny bathroom. 

 

As much as she wanted to deny it, she’d blatantly misunderstood. Severus Snape had, in fact, asked her… Hermione Jean Granger out, and she’d turned him down. To his face. 

 

“BUGGER!” 

 

Whatever game he thought he was playing, they’d both lost. Even truths crooned by Avril Lavigne couldn’t ease her aching pride, nor soothe her disappointed heart. 

 

Sleep eluded her for a long time. 

 

 _Life’s funny like that. It’s the way it is._ **

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Just like the world of Harry Potter, the songs and lyrics mentioned in this Chapter were created by other brilliant minds. 
> 
> * "Magic Man" was written and performed by Heart: Ann Wilson and Nancy Wilson  
> ** "Complicated" was written and performed by Avril Lavigne, and contributed to by song writers Lauren Christy, Scott Spock, and Graham Edwards  
> *** "Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor)" is a 1978 song, written and originally recorded by Moon Martin, and sung a year later by Robert Palmer.


	18. Chapter Thirteen: Love Is The Prize (Plus Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude that I bring you at last the final installment of this story. I hope you all get a giggle and some joy out of it, as I've had a ball. 
> 
> Particular thanks to the people who I have dragged along with me, some kicking and screaming. Each of you provided feedback and a kind word when I needed it, both for the original version from 2018, and the “extended edition.” In no particular order: Coromandel, SnapeLove, Havelocked, ScarletDewDrops, DeweyDecimateher, Ms_Anthrop, and Myella. 
> 
> If I get to heaven first, I’ll put in a good word for you although you are all so wonderful I doubt you’ll need it. 
> 
> For those interested, [there is a playlist for this story. ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTViBLsVggqseWtPcGD7zv9uVkqgTfFoG)

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13: Love Is The Prize.

  
  


The spring evening was warm and clear, but Severus paid it little mind. He was on his way to retrieve Narcissa Black, whom he had agreed to escort to Luna and Lucius’ engagement party. Since her divorce, she’d moved out of the country, yet for this occasion, she made a point of returning. He’d not visited her since the war, so it took him some effort to locate the address in Chiswick. 

 

As soon as he knocked on the door, it flew open and there stood the lady, looking for all the world as though as little time had passed for her as it had for him. “Severus! So glad to see you.” She looked him over searchingly as she held out her hand for him to kiss. “But you look the same.” 

 

Severus obligingly bent over her hand and wasn’t surprised when her fingers reached up to push an obscuring lock of his hair back from his face. 

 

Before he could get in a word edgewise, she clucked her tongue in disapproval. “No, this will not do.” She pulled away and stepped to the side with a curt gesture. “Come in. We need to amend your wardrobe.” 

 

“Madam, I don’t think it really matters what I wear, or what I look like.” In fact, he’d been rebuffed so thoroughly by Hermione on the basis of wearing a persona, he’d striven to look like the best version of himself as much as he could tonight. 

 

Gasping, Narcissa clutched at the rope of pearls she had wrapped about her neck several times. “If you are coming with me, then it most definitely matters. Did that long nap kill your sense of pride? You’ve so much to work with, Severus.” 

 

He was taken aback by the compliment, and denial sprung automatically from his lips. “My appearance never has…” He was cut off before he could complete his statement. 

 

Stern, Narcissa wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare degrade yourself, Severus. You hide behind those dreadful…” She paused, her lip curling in disdain as she opened her hand in a gesture of exasperation, “mortician’s cast-offs. I’ve known you since you were 11. I know you as well as if not better than most, and you always sell yourself too short. You can just stop yourself right there because I won’t have it! Tonight you will stop hiding, Severus.” 

 

Groaning, Severus let her pull him into the austere hallway of Narcissa’s very modern flat, wondering just what he’d signed himself up for now. At least he had plausible deniability if Hermione objected. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Hermione was getting ready with Ginny. They’d been out shopping the weekend before along with Luna, and all three were dressing to kill. A friendly wager had been made between the ladies and the gents resulting in each half of the wedding party planning a musical number, a contest of muggle pop songs. The audience would vote, and whoever lost would have to pen addresses for all of the invitations and the list of invitees was long enough to make her hand ache at the prospect of such a task. 

 

Ginny’s loathing of calligraphy combined with Hermione’s intense drive to win pushed the ladies to extremes, both in the choice of the number, and daring dress. They’d also commandeered the band for three practices that week, in front of a mirror. Hermione was really pleased with how well they’d performed, rising to the challenge. There was no question, they were going to blow the wizards away.  

 

“Maybe we should have picked something a little less risque, Gin?” Hermione, as she was wont to do, was having second thoughts. And third thoughts. And ninety-ninth thoughts. 

 

Ginny’s beautifully coiffed head came into view, standing behind her so they could look at one another in the mirror. “You have nothing to worry about, Hermione.” She sniffed. “If Snape doesn’t fall at your feet when you look like this, then Draco’s right. He’s dead below the waist.” 

 

“He probably just isn’t interested.” Something in Hermione bristled at her friend’s criticism of Severus’ manhood. 

 

The leer on Ginny’s face was telling. “Don’t believe it. Won’t know unless you try, girlfriend.” 

 

Blushing, Hermione stammered, “He’s bringing Narcissa. I think she must be more his type.” Elegant. Mature. Poised. Not a screaming banshee, or a silly little arrogant Gryffindor. 

 

“Oh, pish-posh. Narcissa Black is almost twice your age and Draco says they’re just friends.” Ginny leaned into the mirror, using her wand to touch up her eyelash glamour. 

 

Hermione was feeling quite insecure, and it showed as she responded in a small voice. “They’ve known each other for a long time.” 

 

“Right, and nothing’s happened between them in all of that long time. Honestly, Hermione! You’ve got to relax. Let your magic lead you. It won’t steer you wrong, I promise.” Ginny put a hand on Hermione’s emerald green silk-clad hip. 

 

Exhaling, Hermione put a hand over Ginny’s. “Right. Last chance.” 

 

“Dead below the waist. I’m telling you.” Ginny turned her head, checking the clock on the wall. “Now, it’s time to go.” She let go and started for the door. 

 

Hermione stood staring at herself in the mirror, still not convinced of her chances of success. She felt beautiful with her wavy hair up in a magically-assisted updo, and her makeup much more elaborate than she’d normally attempt. 

 

“Come on, Hermione. Stop thinking. You’re perfect. And you’re making us late.” 

  


* * *

 

 

A pavilion was set up outside, sheltering a dance floor and the live cover band that Draco hired for the evening. At the moment they were playing classical guitar instrumentals, setting a nice ambience. They came well recommended, and at least the lead singer seemed to appreciate Draco’s unusual taste for muggle music. The sun was still up in the sky and guests were already streaming in. 

 

Headmistress McGonagall leaned in to give Draco a peck on the cheek, appearing arm in arm with Poppy Pomfrey. “Good evening, Mr Malfoy.” 

 

“And you, Headmistress. I’m so pleased you could join us.” Draco was starting to sweat. Would things work with those two here? Severus could not hide behind Toby this time.

 

McGonagall reached up and patted him on the cheek. “Oh, don’t look so nervous. We are just two harmless old witches who are here to support the happy couple.” 

 

Pomfrey chuckled, “I’ll make sure she behaves, Draco.” Letting out an “ah” of appreciation, she burbled, “And don’t you look handsome, young man! I heard there’s a friendly contest?” 

 

Catching the thread of conversation once more, Draco perked up. “Oh, yes. Musical numbers, ladies vs the gents. We’ll have you all vote, but I’ll explain later after everyone’s arrived.” He gestured towards the tents. “There are wine and vittles, and if you ask, the servers will bring you tea.” 

 

“Sounds lovely. Oh, I do enjoy seeing you young people and the amusements they get up to.” Pomfrey was a perpetual fountain of goodwill, pouring it out everywhere she went. 

 

Another pair was approaching, tall and dark intensity escorting golden-haired elegance. “Mother! Godfather.” Draco smiled, kissing his mother on the cheeks. 

 

As she returned the kisses, she commented to her escort, “You see? I told you. Much better than that stuffy frock coat. You’d perish in the heat. Dancing is hard work.” 

 

Snape was fiddling with the cuffs of the grey military jacket, which was cut short at the waist. The forest green decorative cording across the breast screamed custom, and if one squinted, you could make out the snake motifs. Narcissa had been in on the planning for tonight and had taken responsibility for dressing Snape, as the Malfoy men needed no such help. “Are you quite sure this isn’t supposed to be buttoned?” 

 

Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall were still nearby, and both were looking on with intense interest. Poppy burst out, “Oh, no, Severus. You must leave it open. That way we can appreciate the lining. Really lovely on you, excellent taste.” 

 

Severus glared at Narcissa, who shrugged unrepentantly. “Just had this old thing lying about, did you?” 

 

“If you’d done better work without my help, you’d never have known.” She pouted and held out a hand to him. “Vicars don’t get to have any fun, Severus, so there is no point in looking like one.” Dolled up in a cocktail dress with a scandalously low back, she looked terrific too. 

 

Grumbling about self-respect and proper comportment, Snape grasped her hand and helped her down the steps leading to the rest of the party. 

 

Draco was impressed. Narcissa had persuaded Snape to wear a thin v-neck shirt under the jacket, and black jeans. A whiff of cologne reached him. My my. Mother has really gone all out. Chanel will do for the gents as much as the ladies, yes indeed. It was a spring green, fresh and pleasant. 

 

Movement at the other end of the patio tore his attention away, where three people appeared in a flash of blue light. 

 

Harry Potter looked down with a tight smile for his ladies, a crow among swans. Ginerva was gorgeous in a shoulderless green sheath that put her complexion into the spotlight, but Hermione was the person who drew Draco’s eye. She’d found a silk number with a plunging V-neck, and that draped just so to draw the eye to her hips. It was made of hand-painted silk that was reminiscent of leaves. “Wow.”  

 

“Eyes up here, Malfoy.” Harry’s eyes danced with amusement. 

 

Caught off guard, Draco flushed. “Not you, scarface.” 

 

Hermione smiled brilliantly, taking the compliment in stride. “Is Kingsley here yet?” 

 

The air next to Draco shimmered, and there he was. Tall, dark, and wearing formal purple robes. He started to laugh heartily when Draco jumped like a startled cat. “Got you.” 

 

Draco glared sullenly at the former Minister of Magic’s back as he walked over to meet Hermione. 

 

“Right.” Harry transferred Hermione to Kingsley with efficiency. “Down we go. Which way to the bar?” Harry’s eyes were scanning the small crowd down below. Always on duty. Constant vigilance. 

 

“You’re keen tonight, Potter.” Draco ran a light hand through his hair, smoothing imagined locks out of place, willing his jangling nerves to settle. 

 

“Is Romana here, Draco?” Hermione, hand safely tucked into the crook of Kingsley’s arm, stood on tip-toe to get a better view.  

 

Draco nodded. “She’s off mingling. Charlie’s with her.” 

 

“Oh.” After a pause in which those lauded little grey cells made the connection, her eyes widened in delighted surmise, “Oh?” 

 

Smile tight, he said, “No time for gossip, so don’t bother asking. You’re the last to arrive.” Rubbing his hands together, Draco gestured for the guests to proceed him down the stone steps. “Let’s get the party started.” 

  


* * *

  


Severus stood at Narcissa’s side, reticent. At first, Narcissa had tried to include him in her social intelligence mission. After a while, she gave him up for hopeless. Her hand on his arm brought his attention back to duty as her escort. Arching one brow, he looked over at her. It was too noisy for him, and he had no wish to shout over the crowd. 

 

“Drinks, Severus. I’m thirsty.” When he didn’t set off immediately, she supplied the information he needed. “I still prefer white wine or champagne if they have it.”  

 

He nodded to Xenophilius Lovegood, who was as usual an eye-sore. This time in a lurid magenta colour. He looked anxious, and Severus didn’t blame him, really. He hated parties too. 

 

As he waited at the makeshift bar, Draco popped up at his elbow. “I’m going to get started, alright?” 

 

“Sure.” He was as ready as he was ever going to be. 

 

Draco jogged his elbow as he turned to go. “Do try to smile a little. You’re scaring the guests.” 

 

Severus looked up to the heavens, then gestured to the barman. “Give us two shots of whiskey, neat. And a champagne.” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt was engrossed in a quiet conversation with Narcissa before he arrived, but she’d cut off when Severus stepped within earshot. Draco’s voice broke in overhead, just as Severus was handing Narcissa her glass of wine. 

 

He’d already disposed of the whiskey, leaving his hands empty. It created a pleasant heat in his gullet, one that a detached part of his mind was already scolding him for. He’d given up drinking after that night. Something about dealing with Granger drove him to this, and yet he persisted. 

 

Draco said, “Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight. I’d like to say a few words if you all would indulge me. Anyone who knows Luna, know that she’s a force of nature. Her mind is like air…” 

 

A few laughs answered, and Draco held up a hand. “Like air, everywhere and nowhere at once. Anyone who knows Dad can see that he wouldn’t be able to breathe without her.” 

 

Luna sighed happily, leaning into Lucius. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Narcissa draining the glass of wine he’d just obtained for her in one enthusiastic motion. Severus silently used his wand to refill it, conscious of how awkward this must be for her.

 

“Like water, she sweeps away worry and doubt and shows us how to see beneath the dust that’s clogged up our minds. She is the water in the desert that Dad never really knew he was missing. Without her, he’s parched.” 

 

Lucius leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Luna’s hair. 

 

“Luna has the strength of the earth and her connection to everything and everyone is as fundamental as bedrock. All things grow better with encouragement, nourishment. She’s taught me to trust in magic and the transformative force of love. Luna, you’ve taken the old stick that was my father and made him anew.” 

 

Luna’s eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, but there was also a wide smile on her lips. 

 

“A passion for life and eagerness to love everything she touches is Luna’s unique fire. Dad’s world was cold and dark, but she has brought understanding. I’m so glad that you’ve agreed to become my father’s wife, for he had forgotten the way and without you, he’d still be lost.” 

 

Draco lifted a glass to Luna. “To Luna, happiness personified, purist love. I can’t wait for the day that you officially take up our family name as your own.” 

 

“Here here!” “To Luna!” 

 

Luna crossed the distance between them and gave Draco a tight hug. “That was beautiful, Draco. Thank you.”   

 

Draco joked as he hugged her back. “I made you cry. Why do I always make the girls cry?” 

 

Severus’ head whipped about when he heard Hermione’s voice call out, “Because you’re a prat. Don’t pretend it’s a shock. The rest of us all have known for years!” 

 

Laughing, Lucius joined him in the centre of the floor, starting off with a handshake, then pulling Draco in for the one-armed man-hug. 

 

Hermione was radiant, and Severus watched as she too stepped out of the crowd. “It’s my turn to have a say.” 

 

Draco smirked, “Hold on. Should I take notes? Is there a quiz at the end of the night?” 

 

“Shut up, Draco. The adults are talking now.” Hermione turned her back to him, and he booed in disdain. “Anyway. I have a few remarks of my own. I’m not as skilled with words as your son. Really Draco, how am I to compete with that?” 

 

That smug narrow face split in a grin, devoid of remorse. Lifting both hands in a silent ‘oh well,’ Draco didn’t interrupt. 

 

“When Lucius and Luna first started dating, I was alarmed. Other than being fair-haired and magical, it wasn’t obvious to me what advantage there could be in this match for Luna.” She turned to the crowd and smiled sadly. “I have a confession to make. I told Luna to dump him. Those of you who’ve been in an argument with me know that once I start, well. I’m like a three-headed dog with only one bone.” That made a few in the crowd laugh. 

 

Hermione continued on, earnestly. “When she wouldn’t listen to me, I did everything in my power to separate them.” 

 

Severus was quite surprised that she chose now, in such a public forum at their engagement party, to make this particular confession. The couple in question stood side by side, their faces both serious.

 

The room was entirely quiet now. You could hear a pin drop. 

 

“I, Hermione Jean Granger, was wrong.” She turned to point at Draco as it sunk in. “I hope you enjoyed that because you’re not likely to ever hear it from these lips again.” 

 

Relieved laughter rose from the crowd, and Severus joined in this time. She may have heard him because she turned to look directly at him. 

 

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. That’s how the saying goes, isn’t it?” Hermione started to walk in a circle around the dance floor. 

 

“Well, it also happens that those who are too mindful of history are doomed to stay in the past, to be blind to what is right in front of them. What I failed to notice, was the loyalty that the Malfoys have for one another. It makes sense when you look for it.” 

 

“Through the very worst time of his life, Lucius has remained true to his family. That kind of love is rare. And precious. And beautiful. It is deeper than appearances and stands strong against the forces in this world that seek to pull people apart.” 

 

Hermione had made a full circuit and now stopped in front of the couple. 

 

“Luna’s way of loving is open. Obvious, even effusive. Lucius’ love is steady. Fiercely protective. Loyal to a fault, although that is not possible with Luna.” 

 

A quiet murmur of agreement rose from the audience. 

 

“I am here with joy in my heart to support you two as you move forward together. My father once said that the secret to success in marriage isn’t in finding a perfect mate, for all of us are perfectly imperfect. The secret is to find a mate who matches your capacity for bullheadedness, and then convince them to never let you go.” 

 

“You two have the tenacity, love, and loyalty to make a marriage work. May the pair of you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.” 

 

Hermione raised her glass, “A toast. May your love stand up to the worst test yet to come: Wedding Planning.” 

 

Glasses were raised all about the room, and Hermione embraced Luna. Severus watched with a slight smile as she turned to Lucius, looked at the hand the wizard offered for her to shake, and then bypassed it for a hug as well. 

 

Draco’s amplified voice rolled over the approving applause that broke out at the gesture. "Alright, alright. That’s enough of that. Much more of that and I might be sick. Is Madam Pomfrey in the house?” 

 

“Here, dearie!” She was seated in a chair that abutted the dance floor, where she had a good view of the proceedings along with the Headmistress. 

 

“Good, just checking. This next spectacle may test those who have a heart condition, or a delicate constitution. In fact, I recommend that all of you find a seat in case of dizziness. He smirked at the crowd, “After all, I am about to perform.”  

 

That set everyone laughing as they moved to find seats. Severus checked, finding Narcissa being ushered to a place by Kingsley, to whom Severus raised a hand of thanks.  

 

“In a friendly wager, Ginny Weasley and I have challenged one another to organize the performance of one favourite muggle song. It is a current muggle trend in entertainment to make a contest of this, each team performs, and then the audience judges which team is the winner. Headmistress, might I prevail on you to officiate?” Draco had put Minerva on the spot. “Since all of the wedding party will be performing?” 

 

“Och. I’ve had a bit of refreshment, but I shall see what I can do.” Minerva was pleased, and Severus thought that asking her was a good call.  

 

“Thank you, Headmistress. Now, as always, the Ladies will go first. Without any further ado, I present the Lovegoods!” 

 

The lights around the pavilion went dark, except for a few dim fairy lights floating around the band. The guitarist began to pluck out a quick-paced sequence, mimicking a clock ticking away melodiously. 

 

_“Baby, can’t you see…”_

 

A bright floodlight turned on, revealing the radiant red-haired Ginny Weasley standing in the middle of the floor, flanked by Luna and Hermione. All three were dressed in different dresses, all in shades of green. 

 

_“... a guy like you should come with a warning. You’re dangerous. I’m falling.”_

 

Severus turned to watch Hermione, who was dancing beside Ginny. Her mesmerizing hips weren’t in his imagination. They were real. Granger had been studying something much more entrancing than poetry.

 

Luna’s ethereal soprano broke through the haze enough for him to break away and watch her solo. She had her white arms up above her as she sang, _“Too high... Can’t come down.”_ She twirled gracefully with the beat stopping when she faced Lucius with a seductive smile. _“Can you feel me now?”_  

 

Lucius was watching, his mouth parted in fascination. Severus caught him wink at his fiancée before she whirled back away to join the others in a tighter formation. 

 

_“Oh, the taste of your lips, I’m on a ride.”_

 

All three were singing, and some of the audience were getting into it. Brittany Spears, wasn’t it? He’d have to look this one up.

 

_“Don’t you know that you’re toxic?”_ Odd lyrics, really. Riveted, Severus watched as Hermione took centre stage. 

 

Severus froze like a deer in headlights. Hermione wasn’t just looking in this direction, she was looking pointedly at him. 

 

_“It’s getting late… To give you up. I took a sip, from the devil’s cup.”_ How did she manage to put so much movement into her hips, but keep her head perfectly steady? He watched her openly, not bothering to correct himself when his lips parted. 

 

Sultry, stunning, sexy. Severus’ brain was short-circuiting, only able to think in words that start with the letter S. 

 

Merlin, what was she doing with her hands? _“Slowly, it’s taking over me.”_ Severus’ own hands itched to knock them away, selfishly wanting his turn to drink in the softness of her curves. 

 

A voice whispered to him, “Easy, man. You’re drooling.” It was Draco. He probably had come to collect him for their number. 

 

“Salacious.” Severus had no interest in moving from that spot. 

 

Draco sounded wistful, “Feels like they’ve already won, doesn’t it?” 

 

Severus nodded, mouth refusing to work as he watched. Luna moved with the grace of a ballerina as she led the chorus, but he only had eyes for Hermione. 

 

Hermione was looking directly at him, a secret smile tugging up the corners of her mouth as she took over, _“Intoxicate me now, with your lovin’ now... I think I’m ready now.”_

 

Shrugging off a rattling hand, Severus focused on Hermione as she repeated, _“Intoxicate me now, with your lovin’ now. I think I’m ready now.”_

 

The music stopped, and as quick as a blink of the eye, she was gone. A low groan of loss escaped Severus. Applause erupted from the audience in a rush of noise and whistles. 

 

The hand was back, shaking him insistently. “Come on, chin up. Don’t give up now.” Draco couldn’t possibly be this clueless, but Severus appreciated the act. 

 

The walk to the dance floor helped to clear the fog of lust from Severus’ brain. Severus knew exactly what to do with that raw power. He wondered if Granger was really ready now, as the lyrics implied.

 

Two could play at this game.   
  


* * *

 

 

Hermione was out of breath and sweating. The fluttering in her chest was adrenaline-fuelled, and it felt like a little bird was trying to get out and fly to Severus. Ginny dragged Hermione towards Harry, who had two glasses of water waiting for them. 

 

The lights dimmed as Hermione settled herself in a chair a little back from the floor. The wizards had been quite secretive about their plans, and she let herself wonder about their strategy. 

 

Headmistress McGonagall’s voice brought order to the floor, “Oh my! Are you certain that’s what this says? Please welcome,” The usually composed Professor hesitated in embarrassment before pushing the words out, “The Warcocks. Honestly, I don’t know where they...” She cut off before she could finish expressing her displeasure at the indignity.

 

The spotlight turned on, and Hermione took in the three standing stock still in a familiar V-configuration. Severus and Lucius both had shed their coats, which given her own condition, Hermione thought wise. Draco was in the middle and started off cold, his voice ringing into the hush of the audience. _“Oh, yeeeeah!”_

 

Immediately the music picked up, and along with it, the men moved with increasing energy. _“Oh yeah!”_ Where did the bowler hats come from? 

 

Hermione felt pretty good about things so far. Their moves were passable, but nothing to three belly dancing witches. 

 

Severus stepped to the forefront, taking the lead, _“So scared of breaking that you won’t let it bend.”_ All three men used their fists to collapse the crown of their hats, and then with a neat flick of the wrist, the bowlers sprung back into shape.  

 

_“I wrote two hundred letters that I will never send.”_ The hats spun away like frisbees, vanishing before they could collide with anything solid, just to reappear on the men’s heads. Oh... that’s why Lucius had his hair tied back. 

 

Flipping their hats off, each caused their bowler to cartwheel down his arm on its brim, stopping it at the wrist to roll it back the other way. _“Sometimes these cuts are deeper than you see,”_  

 

A gesture had the hats flying straight up into the air, only to land back in place on their heads. It was impressive. Hermione was starting to wonder what they’d done magically with the hats to make them behave so responsively. They had to be stiffer, more springy and have more weight than the usual chapeau.

 

_“I’d rather let them bleed, so let me be, I’ll set you free.”_ The wizards shuffled positions, Lucius taking the lead, but all three sang to the chorus. 

 

Severus happened to be closest to her, and she followed his baritone with both pleasure and a sense of gratitude. His voice still had a tendency towards gruffness, but his original dark velvety resonance survived his injury. He’d been at risk of vocal cord paralysis, but for the miracle of magic. 

 

As the three moved together in time, hands crossed over their hearts, Hermione’s awareness increased exponentially. What was that scent? She breathed in again. Grass. She cut her eyes to the glass Harry had handed her. No, there wasn’t any Amortentia in it. 

 

_“Girl, I’m gonna get you back, I’m gonna get you back.”_ Snape spun by, and the scent intensified. He came to a stop facing the audience only a few feet to her right. 

 

Severus caught her looking at him, and winked at her. That glance sent a cold shiver down her spine. Oh shit. He was getting her back. For what? Confusion settled uneasily about her chest, it’s iron binding making it hard to breathe. 

 

Somewhere else, Draco took up the verse. Nimue! Severus was dancing with precise movements, with the same care and exactitude that he cast spells and brewed potions. It was worse because without having to sing, he was getting into the part. 

 

_“It’s not that I didn’t care, It’s that I didn’t know.”_ The wizards as a group executed a series of moves that suggested that they were marionettes, dancing on the ends of a string.

 

It was clever to use syncopated pauses to emphasize the music, and she believed Draco deserved a lot of credit. She watched Snape’s wonderful hands as he moved in time. _“It’s not that I didn’t feel, but what I didn’t show.”_

 

Magic, familiar but not her own, whispered over her skin. Her hair, which had been held up entirely with a charm, sprung loose, the abundant curls cascading down her back and about her shoulders. “Hey!” 

 

Looking about, she found that Severus wasn’t looking at her directly, but he did have a smirk on his face. Oh my, Merlin. He’d just magically told her to let her hair down. 

 

Ginny leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Too bad Draco taught Snape that undetectable extension charm for his pants. This could be a lot more interesting. Nice arse, though.” 

 

“Ginny!” Hermione blushed deeply. What was wrong with her? She concentrated on the hat tricks, trying to put speculation about what might be in Snape’s pants out of her mind. She resolved NOT to look at that particular part of his anatomy, or at least not to be caught. 

 

Harry leaned in, “Draco said he and Snape would be getting you two out on the floor soon. He wanted me to mention it, should be coming up any moment.” 

 

“What? But no one asked me.” Ginny was annoyed. “My feet need a break.” 

 

“Just go with it, okay, Gin? Draco’s promised that they’d be gentlemen.” 

 

Hermione breathed out, “Oh, I hope not.” Could Severus have had a change of heart? She shouldn’t get her hopes up, but oh, how she longed for it to be true. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

_“I’m desperate and confused, so far away from you.”_

 

That was Severus’ cue. Time to put it all out on the line. He stepped towards Hermione, moving carefully. _“I’m getting there.”_ It wouldn’t do to give in to nerves now. 

 

Tilting her head sideways, her eyes followed him. It put him in mind of another night, another dance. Well, why not? He ran his tongue along his upper lip, in a way he hoped she found arousing instead of ridiculous. 

 

Hermione’s brown eyes widened in shock. Or was that offence? 

 

Panic gripped him, had he misread her? No time. He was compelled forwards by the beat. Severus Snape was never late. 

 

_“...don’t care where I have to run._ ” Stopping in front of her, he extended a hand with a come hither gesture. 

 

 The witch took the bait, her smaller hand with its delicately tapered fingers slipping into his own. 

 

Relieved, but not wanting to miss the window, he hauled her up onto her feet and in a sweeping move spun her in close enough he could whisper in her ear, “Just relax love.” 

 

Reaching the centre of the floor, Severus spun Hermione about so that she was facing the audience. With a step back, he let her go to turn away. _“Why do you do what you do to me?”_ The band encouraged the crowd to clap along to the slower rhythm. 

 

Another turn and he was down on his knees before her. Shock showed on her face, but she allowed him to continue. He loved the warmth of her eyes on him as he executed the moves that told a tale of a tortured soul who wanted nothing more than the misery of unrequited love to end. Hat off, heart thump, spun in his hands. Now for the big finish. He tossed the hat high and leapt to his feet. 

 

As he pulled Hermione into a standard foxtrot position, the hat dropped onto his head. He could tell immediately that it wasn’t right. The bowler landed upside down. 

 

Exasperated, Snape moved to correct the problem but was too slow. Hermione grabbed it and put it upon her own head with a playful drag of a finger along the rim. Still holding onto her, he improvised for a few beats while he got his bearings back. Almost over.  

 

Singing again, he stepped between her feet and spun her once, twice. _“Girl, you really got me bad. You really got me bad.”_ Her hair was whisper-soft, brushing against his chest as he walked her around and back again. 

 

_“I’m gonna get you back, gonna get you back.”_  

 

As the music faded, Severus discovered that he’d no idea of what to do next. Cheers rose from the audience, but he paid no mind for his witch looked up at him with a secret grin, squeezed his hands once and then let him go. Hermione clapped too, looking quite lovely as she smiled up at him. She’d kept his hat, but he found that he didn't object so long as she kept smiling. 

 

Draco’s hand on his shoulder dragged him away, and Severus had to shove down a growl at the interference. Too many eyes on them, he should not make a scene, as much as he wanted to. Time to take his bows with the others. 

 

The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur of congratulations and voting with coloured sparks. 

 

Victory went to the Love-goods. Granger was quite proud of herself as she presented the badges of loss to the men: quills to aid in the addressing of many invitations. 

 

Severus cleared his throat and spoke in a carrying tone, “Lucius. Have you considered an elopement?” 

 

There was no answer as Luna had plucked the fluffy pink quill out of her fiancée's hand, using it to trace the line of his angular jaw. He pulled his eyes away, feeling that he was intruding just by being in the room.

 

The Professor looked back to find himself pinned with a remarkably sharp glare. Hermione growled at him, “No. Cheating.” 

 

“What if the happy couple changes their minds?” He smirked at Hermione. “I hear Gretna Green is nice this time of year.” 

 

She stubbornly maintained her glare, but Severus thought there might be a tug at one corner of her lips. Interested to see what might happen, he continued to return her gaze. She began to blush, her cheeks darkening. She broke first, letting out a chuckle and looking away to see who might be observing them. 

 

The band started to play, a Celestina Warbeck standard. Something about a cardiac displacement spell gone wrong. Kingsley was leading Narcissa out onto the floor and catching his eye, Narcissa waved her hand at him in summary dismissal. 

 

Narcissa was right. It was too noisy, too hot in here. Too crowded. 

 

“Shall we take a turn in the rose garden?” He held out a hand to her, not really caring who saw. 

 

When she took it, an amplified voice carried over the crowd. It was McGonagall, “About time.” 

 

Severus looked up and found Minerva, hand over her heart, gazing at him with a wistful expression. Poppy was laughing next to her, using a lacy handkerchief to wipe happy tears from her eyes. 

 

A tug on his hand turned his attention back to its proper place, and he let Hermione tow him out into the quiet spring night. A calm enveloped him, soothing away any lingering doubt.  

 

Byron said it better anyway. Give, oh, give me back my heart. Or, since that has left my breast, keep it and take the rest. Hear my vow, before I go. Zoë mou, sas agapo. ***

 

Hermione led them far from the noise of the party, well past the rose garden, whose buds were only starting to open this early in June. 

 

Her steps slowed, and she spoke, “I know you wouldn’t toy with me, but I have trouble believing this is real. My heart and its wishes are unchanged.” Her voice became shaky as she amended, “If I am mistaken, one word from you will silence me on the subject forever.” 

 

Severus could not see her clearly in the dark. His eyes wanted the sun, not the cold light of distant stars. Ah, it was good to be a wizard. A single mage light flickered to life between them. “This is a rare night for confessions. I too was wrong. I cringe to recall the things I said that day.” 

 

Hermione looked up at him in wonder, wanting to believe. Remorse stole the smiles that should be his although her lips spoke the sweetest thing she’d said to him yet. “But you were right, Severus. You saw clearly where I could not.” 

 

Drawing her closer, Severus whispered with a half-smile. “Do not remind me. You have changed my mind, not an easy task.” 

 

His reward was better than a smile. “Oh, sir!” She reached up, caressing his cheek with a light touch, her eyes luminous. 

 

“Never “sir” to you, unless you are cross or decorum requires it. If you call me Professor, I shall lose my nerve entirely.” 

 

She laughed, letting her fingers stray back to comb through his hair. “What shall I call you, then? Lover won’t do for public forums.” 

 

His voice became lower, rougher as his body responded to her. “Severus. Never again, Toby. I detest Toby. He’s a licentious cad who I’ve…”  

 

She snaked her hands behind his head and tugged him down, cutting him off with a sweet kiss. It wasn’t expert, but it didn’t matter. She stole his breath away.  

 

After they broke off, she tried out the sound of his name, as though it were new. “My Severus.” She laughed, tasting the sounds and changing the inflexion, “SeVerus.” “Sev’rus.” She was learning it as enthusiastically as she learned any charm, letting the syllables roll over her tongue. “SeverUs.”  

 

How he loved the sound of his name on her lips. Allowing his fingers to touch her hair, he marvelled at the silkiness of her curls. The abundance of beauty before him entranced him, drew him closer, so he whispered in her ear, “My Hermione.” 

 

The witch trembled delightfully in response. She gasped in surprise as he scooped her up, intent on finding a bench. 

 

Or a bit of wall. 

 

Or, whatever.  

 

Severus already knew her name by heart, yet the magic of the laughing woman in his arms was mysterious and new, and he planned to make studying her his life’s masterwork. Meticulously. He was prepared to do whatever it took to keep her with him and happy. On some level, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he was capable of patience in this. 

 

After all, they had plenty of time.   

  


* * *

  


 

**Epilogue.**  

  
  


“Dad. Dad. Daaaaad.” His daughter’s voice was gentle, pulling him out of a vague, amorphous dream about swimming in warm water, searching for an elusive fish whose breath held the key to something his subconscious thought would be brilliant. Or perhaps it just wanted an excuse to vacation in the Bahamas, not the frozen mountains of Romania. His wife had dragged him here for the holidays, and he hated the cold. 

 

A second voice broke in on his drifting thoughts. “Daddy?” 

 

Severus could tell through his closed eyelids that it was very early in the morning. “No.” 

 

Small hands plucked at his shoulder, shaking him. “Daddy! Time to get up. Mummy is already up for a whole hour!” 

 

The mattress compressed as the youngest of his brood climbed onto the bed, and Severus could feel the heat of the toddler’s breath on his cheek. “Da wake?” 

 

“Obviii-”  

 

Tiny sticky, cold fingers poked him right in the eye, and Severus’ drawl transformed into a bellow, worthy of a wounded Erumpent bull. “AUGH!” 

 

Severus sat up straight, clapping a hand to his face protectively as his other two cretinous spawn leapt into action, dragging their whimpering brother out of range. He didn’t believe in shielding his children from the consequences of their actions. Still, a remote part of his mind was reminding him that threatening to use any of his children as parts for potions was considered too far. 

 

He opened his remaining uninjured eye to glare at the huddle. Tears were streaming from his eye now, and he let go to blink, checking to be sure that he retained his sight. 

 

One of his graceless children thumped away. By the cadence of the steps, it was probably Soren, the oldest. Not wearing shoes again.

 

A series of scathing curses passed over his tongue, unspoken until he found one suitable for his audience. “Fudge.” He winced as stars sprung in front of his eye. 

 

The other two-edged closer, their eyes wide. Eleanor whispered, “Cammie, say you are sorry to father, okay?” 

 

“Ss..ss...sowie.” The littlest boy’s cheeks were wet and flushed, and snot flowed freely from his nose. 

 

Sighing, Severus let his irritation melt away. Still holding a hand to his eye, he extended his left in a gesture that invited them closer. 

 

Cameron climbed up into his lap, and Severus wished for his wand, but accepted the wet and likely unsanitary kisses from the toddler, nodding curtly when asked, “Bed’ah Daddy?” 

 

Eleanor stood, twisting her favourite dress in her little hands. Her hair was plaited back in two braids, each tied off with a green ribbon. She bounced on her toes a little. “Mummy said…” 

 

From the doorway, Hermione said, “It’s alright, Eleanor. Let your Daddy have a moment to wake up.” 

 

Soren pushed his way through the door around his mother, hands full of what turned out to be an ice-pack that Severus accepted. It worked wonderfully, the cold stopping the stinging almost instantly. 

 

“Mummy? I want to see Uncle Charlie and Uncle Drakey and Auntie Romany. Can we go now?” Eleanor’s middle top teeth were missing, lending her a lisp that only enhanced her whinge. 

 

Severus didn’t miss the twitch of amusement that crossed his wife’s lips. Draco really didn’t like being called Drakey, but he put up with it. Hermione thought it was positively hilarious. Squinting at a clock on the wall, Severus asked, “What time are we expected?” 

 

“Not for another two hours.” 

 

Meeting Hermione’s steady gaze, he said, “Well. Time for more of a nap for me, then. Off with you!” 

 

His oldest rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go read. I told you father wasn’t going to wake up yet.” 

 

Cameron wriggled out of his lap, leaving a trail of stickiness behind him worthy of a Streeler, tears forgotten in favour of following his big brother. “Story Sorey?” 

 

In the distance, Soren answered, “No, Cameron. And my name is Soren. Soar-ren.” 

 

“Sorey! Story!” The toddler was relentless. None of their children had been easy or mild of tempered. Nothing like Luna and Lucius’ get. 

 

Making a show of his disgruntlement for his daughter’s benefit, he used his wand to _Tergeo_ away the mess. After a moment, the girl said, “Good morning to you, father. I’ll go make you some nice tea.” 

 

Before he could refuse, she scampered away. 

 

“Don’t run, Eleanor!” Hermione raised her voice and followed the children as far as the door. 

 

It had been a long three days. It wasn’t possible to travel by port-key with a family and so many little ones. Hermione was only just able to scrape away enough coverage to get away from Mungo’s, but it meant she had to work until the last moment, leaving him to organise their menagerie. Cautiously he removed the ice pack and blinked. The eye was already much better. 

 

Stretching, Severus fell back on the pillows, frowning at the cold air of the room. Did they not have fireplaces in Romania? 

 

The click of the door attracted his attention. It was the flare of magic that enveloped the room which brought him to full alertness, although he’d closed his eyes. Pressure in his ears told him there was at least a silencing charm, and if he knew his wife, there was also a potent child-repelling ward. Even Eleanor, in her enthusiasm, could not overcome her mother's charms. 

 

Hermione whispered, “We don’t have much time.” 

 

“Tell me why I wanted children again?” 

 

There was a rustle of clothing, and his wife’s muffled answer, “Because it would be a tragedy to leave the future of the world entirely to dunderheaded hinnies cursed with substandard genetic material?” Cloth hit the rug next to the bed. 

 

Cracking his eyes open, he admired the way all of the little hairs on her arms were standing straight up as they met the chilly morning air. His eyes opened wider when she turned around so he could admire her breasts, her nipples tantalizingly erect. 

 

“And because I tricked you.” She sat on the side of his bed, a little smile that she kept only for him lighting her face. 

 

That wrung a barking laugh from him, and he reached up to pull her down. “You are a clever witch. And a very sexy naked witch.” He squinted at her as she wriggled downwards, out of his reach. “What are you doing?” 

 

“Mmm. Don’t mind me.” Her hands ran down his sides, caressing even as they sapped away his body heat. 

 

Severus took in a deep breath through his nose, the vestiges of lassitude falling away from his mind. 

 

His pants vanished in a flash of magic. “Poor abused man. You must be... So. Very. Tired.” She dipped down, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss on the head of his cock, who twitched to attention, giving the lie to her statement. 

 

He let out a low, inarticulate groan. 

 

She looked up at him, pursing her lips into a playful pout. Her lips were so close that he could feel her words through his sensitized skin as clearly as he could hear them. “I beg your pardon. I am distracting you from your nap.” 

 

“Thanks to you…” He reached to pull her toward him for a kiss, adding, “I am entirely awake, Hermione.” He let his voice soften before adding, “Beloved wife.”   

 

The smile that bloomed on her face was so bright that it made his heart clench. She levered herself up above him with her chestnut curls cascading downwards to whisper, “I love you too.” 

  


_All was well.*_

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note - Chapter Thirteen:    
> *The witches start with “Toxic,” performed by Britany Spears.  Song was written by Cathy Dennis, Christian Karlsson, Pontus Winnberg and Henrik Jonback.  
> **The wizards rebuttal is Maroon 5’s “Misery,” which was written by Adam Levine, Jesse Carmichael, and Sam Farrar. Lyrics are in italics, and are not mine!   
> *** From Lord Byron's "Maid of Athens." 
> 
> Author’s Note - On the Epilogue: 
> 
> * The last line from the epilogue of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling. It felt fitting after everything these two went through to get to this point.  I like this pairing and happy ending better, but by no means do I intend to imply true superiority. JKR is the Queen and I’m not worthy!  
> 
> This was a growing experience for me as a writer (I'm wiser and at least a year older), and I hope an entertaining journey for you all too! While it isn’t my first “finished” story it is my longest completed work to date and I feel pretty good about it. Thanks to the sshg_giftfest and Geminisister for inspiring me. 


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